


Keep the Homefires Burning

by Quicksilver_ink



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Memory Issues, POV First Person, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink/pseuds/Quicksilver_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the game, Raynie waits for Stocke.  </p><p>But waiting's not easy, and life goes on. There are new joys to celebrate with friends, old losses to mourn, and new responsibilities to shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for language, alcohol use, brief sexuality in later chapters, discussion of sex and birth control, the existence of a Nice Guy(tm) in the cast, and the fact that Raynie is narrating and she basically has no filters.

Weak light streamed in from the dirty skylight overhead, but the kitchen was made bright by the thaumlights in the walls. I bobbed my head over and back, trying to judge distance from the oven and whether we were straight parallel with the small spread of metal countertop and the worn-but-clean wooden cabinets above. “A little more left – no, sorry, I meant my left... okay, great, this looks good.”

Marco lowered his end of the table with clear relief, the legs thumping woodenly on the bare floorboards of the kitchen. “Whew. That thing was heavy.”

“The top’s tigerbeard-tree veneer, but underneath it's solid ironwood.” I lowered my end more carefully than Marc had, and ran a hand over its surface, trying to pick up the feel of the grain through my calloused fingertips. Unlike the puckering you found on tables in taverns, I just felt smoothness, like glass, or the fabric Sonja was using for her wedding dress.

“Veneer and ironwood?” Marc sounded impressed, then frowned at me. “Wasn’t that pretty expensive?”

“Yeah, I guess. But I got it used. And with the ironwood it's way sturdier than the new conut stuff.” Honestly, I'd gone a little nuts when I was going around with Sonja, buying stuff for my new place. I'd never owned _furniture_ before, you know? It was exciting but a little bit scary, having things that you couldn't carry with you if disaster struck. Having a _house_. Well, an apartment, but still.

“I guess that's a good idea,” Marco allowed. “Given how you are when you drink.”

I gave him a friendly chuck on the shoulder. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

He frowned back, rubbing his arm and looking genuinely grumpy. I guess moving the table wore him out more than I'd realized. But it _was_ heavy, and Marc's short, so he had to hold it up higher to stay even with me.

Marc's real short, with his head not even coming up to my shoulder, and while I'm a decent height for a gal I'm not all that tall myself. To see him for the first time you might think he was still a kid, since when he's clean-shaven he's got a this round, pink face with big dark eyes and baby-soft blond hair that he mostly hides under a helmet 'cause if he's bareheaded he looks even younger. (I keep telling him he should grow a beard, or a mustache at _least_ , but he says it’s too itchy.) Don’t let his soft look fool you: he's as seasoned a veteran as me, with three years in Dydo's Mercenary Troop, and then not quite another year in Specint before we got assigned to Stocke, when everything got complicated.

Unlike Marco, I actually look my age, which is twenty-two or thereabouts. Every place I’ve lived uses a different calendar, so keeping track of birthdays is hard, and my parents died when I was young so I can’t even be sure I have the right day anyway. Like I said, I’m not hugely tall but on the taller side for a girl. I’ve got the muscle I need to swing my spear around and do my share of the heavy lifting but I’m not, like, bulging and things. My hair’s sort of a dark platinum that I’ve grown out long, but I keep it tied back so it’s out of the way. I’ve got a pretty nice rack if I do say so myself. My face is okay -- more towards cute than pretty.

“I've finished putting your clothes away,” Sonja said then, distracting both me and Marc. She'd been taking my uniforms and and things out of the box I'd crammed them all into, and hung them in the closet or put them away in one of the two drawers. “What else can I do?”

“Help me bring up the bed?” I suggested, but she shook her head and smiled.

“That's heavy, and it wouldn’t be good if I missed my step or my grip and fell down the stairs,” she said, folding her hands over her abdomen. “I tire pretty easily these days, since I can’t keep food down most mornings.” Her smile was pleased, and a little bashful, and after a moment it clicked.

“You're having a baby!” I clapped my hands together, which is a girly gesture, I know. I wanted to hug her but I wasn't sure if that was a good idea? It's not like I meet that many moms-to-be in my line of work, and if there _were_ any in our mercenary unit, Marco was the one they'd have been telling, not me. He was our medic. “Wow, that's great! Congrats.”

“Congratulations,” Marco said sincerely. “What's the due date?” He hesitated. “I imagine it's not for a while given that...”

“I'm not really showing yet, I know.” Sonja patted her still-flat belly. “It’s a bit early to be telling anyone, honestly, but.” She shrugged, still smiling that same happy-shy smile. “It came up.”

I was confused but Marco nodded understandingly; I’d have to ask him why it mattered how early it was. “Gotcha. In that case, how about you unpack my kitchen things? Or would that be too much?” I nodded to another box, tied neatly closed with string. There was my gear, too – you know, armor, boots, knapsack, spear, etc etc, but I prefer to see to essentials like that myself.

It turned out putting my kitchen things away was fine, so I left her to that while Marc and I went back down the narrow stairwell to the landing where we'd left my chairs.

I picked mine up and made to go back inside, but Marco hesitated.

“Um, about Sonja's baby...” my friend began. He sounded uncertain.

His tone worried me. “Is something wrong with it?” People with healing magic like Marco can sometimes tell if someone's sick or hurt, just by being near them. My magic's more elemental attack stuff – fire, lightning, ice. If someone needs a lightning bolt shoved up their ass, I’m your girl! But I can’t tell you’re hurt without seeing the injury any more than anyone else can.

He shook his head immediately. “That's not it, and I wouldn't be able to tell so soon, anyway. I had no idea she was pregnant until she told us.”

“That's good.” I let out a long breath. “So what's got you bothered?”

“Well....” he fiddled with one of the ear-flaps on his helmet. “She and Rosch aren't married yet.”

“Oh, right.” Alistel's way of doing things is still a bit strange to me, all the fussy formal ceremonies. I _do_ like that they have parties afterwards, though. In Cygnus you just move in together. “I think they want to wait to have the wedding till.. till Stocke gets back.” I faltered slightly, but kept going. It's not like getting mopey will bring him back any sooner. “I know Rosch wants him as best man or whatever.”

Marco nodded, but still looked unhappy. “If they wait until he returns... well, Alistellians care about these things. It won't look good if a General has an illegitimate child.”

“So long as they get married before the baby comes, it's okay, right?” I was pretty hazy on the rules for these things. Before I came to Alistel, “illegitimate child” was a term I’d only heard in fairy tales, about secret heirs to thrones and things, since it seems like that’s the only time it really matters. I mean, yeah, bastard’s a pretty common insult, but it’s really another word for asshole. If you really wanted to say something nasty about someone’s parents you’d say their mom was a whore or their dad a Beastkind or something.

Marco just _looked_ at me. “People can count, you know.”

“So? Who _cares?_ ”

“ _So_ there’s going to be gossip.”

I rolled my eyes to show him what I thought about _that_. “Well, I’m sure Sonja and Rosch have it all under control. Or you could just ask when they’re getting married, if it’s bothering you so much.”

Marco picked up his chair, shaking his head, and went back up the stairs.

I followed him at a short distance. When we got back inside, Sonja was stacking pairs of plates and bowls in the cabinet above the sink.

I set down my chair at the table, pulling it out and flopping down. “So, Sonja, I was wondering. You’ve already started making your wedding dress. Is it still going to fit?”

In the corner of my eye, I could see Marco facepalm. Oh, come on, he’s the one who wanted to know about their wedding plans!

Sonja’s hand, holding one of the two chipped mugs I’d bought at a flea market last week, stopped midway to the cabinet. “It won’t be a problem. Rosch and I are still finalizing the schedule, but… we’re planning to get married sometime next month.” She placed the mug in the cabinet, next to its partner. “And the dress has a high waist, so I’ve got some leeway.”

Marc had come to stand beside me and was frowning a little again. To make up for his sourness I smiled my biggest. “A baby _and_ a wedding? Wow, you’ve really got a lot to get ready for. Thanks for helping me move in.” I shot still-grumpy Marco a little look as I went on, “I’m really glad you can still use the dress. It’s really beautiful on you.”

It _is_ , although Sonja’s very pretty just by herself. It’s not really surprising that half the guys in Alistel (and a few ladies) had a crush on her before she and Rosch got together. She’s smaller than me, and while she’s tough in her own way she’s honestly not nearly as strong. She’s a doctor and a med-mech so that’s never really mattered, though. She’s thin, with slender limbs and small hands and long brown hair with a bit of a wave to it. Right now she had silk flowers and ribbons plaited through it -- green, to match her eyes. It makes her look even prettier. When Stocke comes back I should ask her to show me how.

Finally Marco stopped being sulky and started asking polite questions about the wedding planning, and soon we were just talking about different place’s wedding customs, which was interesting even if I couldn’t add much to the conversation.

One thing was bugging me about Sonja’s announcement, though, and it wasn’t what Marco was fussing over. Sure, lots of babies can be accidents, but Sonja’s a doctor. And as a mercenary you learn real soon that medicine in one town is not always as good as in the next. I’d never had cause to doubt Alistel’s before. So after me and Marc wrangled the bed up the stairs I sent him back down for the blanket and sheets, and listened for his footsteps to fade.

“Hey, Sonja.” I shoved my hands in my pockets so I’d look more casual. “I don’t mean to butt into your private business, but… Alistel’s preventatives are reliable, right?”

Sonja blinked at me, her eyebrows coming together. “Preventatives?”

Maybe they had a different term here? We’d never actually talked about it before. “You know, jelly, boots, sheaths, barren-blossom teas? Stuff like that.”

Comprehension made her face clear, and she smiled. “Oh, contraceptives. Yes. We do have those, and used correctly they work quite well.” Her grin turned playful. “Why, do you need some?”

Oh, hell, I should’ve realized she’d ask. “Uh, well… Not right now,” I replied lamely. It’s not that I mind talking to other women about sex and stuff, ‘cause me and Sonja have had some great discussions, let me tell you. But her question was way bigger than that.

“Raynie…” Sonja drew out my name slowly, like she needed to take time to think, then put a hand on my arm. “It’s fine to wait for a while longer, but it’s been months already. You have to know there’s a possibility he’s not coming back.”

“I’m not giving up.” I shook her off, trying to keep the pang in my chest from moving up into my throat and choking my voice. “I promised him, okay? That after the war, we’d… we’d be together.” And find another way to be, one without violence and fighting, but I didn’t like saying it when I was already getting mopey. I knew I’d start tearing up if I did.

Sonja sighed. “Hope is one thing, but denial isn’t healthy. And Stocke wouldn’t want you to stop living your life on his account.”

“I’m not! I’m fine! Look, I’ve got my own place and everything.” I gestured around the room. “I’m a captain in the army, too. It’s a good life! So what if I’m not looking to get laid right now?”

“That’s not what-”

“Sonja, I think you’d better leave.” Marco’s voice cut through our conversation like a knife made of ice. We both turned to look at him. I was shocked and I think Sonja was a little frightened; she’s probably never seen him get really angry before. “Raynie has every right to wait for Stocke.”

“Cool it, both of you,” I said. My head hurt and so did my heart. “Marc, lay off. Sonja, I’m not wasting my life pining away like some… some soppy empty-headed romance heroine. So just drop it.”

They did, and we made uncomfortable conversation about the weather and how Marco’s house-hunting was going -- apparently he didn’t want to stay in the barracks either. But pretty soon Sonja made her excuses and after some even more uncomfortable goodbyes, she left.

I turned to Marc. “Look, you know, I really do appreciate knowing you’re in my corner on this, but weren’t you a bit harsh on Sonja? She’s pregnant and all…”

“Well, she’s not made of glass.” Marco shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe I was a little hard on her. But she wasn’t being fair to you. I guess I wasn’t either, that’s why I got angry.”

“Unfair to me? Why, because you were butting in on my fight or something?”

He shook his head. “I admit I was a little disappointed when I first heard you were looking for your own place. I thought you were, well,” he sighed. “I thought you were giving up and moving on with your life. But then today I started to notice.”

“Notice what?” I managed to ask.

“Plates, cups, bowls, chairs… you have two of everything, Raynie.”

“Well, it makes sense to have extras in case I lose or break something, or have a guest.” That’s what Sonja had said when she talked me into getting more than just one of each thing -- she’d actually told me to get sets of four, but that seemed like way too much. But did I really have exactly two of everything? “Wait! I have _three_ pillows.”

“That clinched the matter, actually.”

I just boggled at him. “ _How?”_

He folded his arms and looked smug. “Because I know you use two pillows yourself. The third one’s for Stocke.”

I didn’t know about all of the other stuff, but he _was_ right about this one. “M-maybe I just wanted a lot of pillows.”

“It’s all right, Raynie.” My friend smiled up at me. “I may not feel the same way about him as you do, but I miss him too.” He patted me on the elbow. “Well, I’d better head out myself. Coming to the Redtail Tavern tonight?”

“If you’re buying, I am!” I replied, and we argued cheerfully about who owed who a drink as I walked him down the steps to the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some acknowledgements are due for this chapter. 
> 
> Let's start with the traditional fanfic disclaimer: Radiant Historia is the property of Atlus, which is a company that makes awesome games. Fanfiction is a labor of love and I seek no financial gain from this story.
> 
> The title is, of course, the famous British song from WWI, "Keep the Homefires Burning". 
> 
> The line "stick a lightning bolt up [their] ass" is a catchphrase of HCBailly of YouTube. Since his decision to LP Radiant Historia is how I learned of this fantastic game's existence in the first place, it seemed only fitting to include a tip-of-the-hat to him.
> 
> Finally, thanks for those who helped me with this chapter. AA, thank you for your proofreading; JT, your comments on characterization were enormously helpful; Riha, I know you haven't played RH and so probably won't see this note, but if it weren't for you I would've abandoned this story entirely in my moments of doubt; and Hix, who definitely also probably won't see this note, but if he does, he knows why I'm thanking him.


	2. Vigil

I’d picked my day off to move, so I was at loose ends for the rest of the afternoon until it was time to go to the bar with Marc. I kept my hands and mind busy unpacking the last of my things and stashing my combat gear -- boots, knapsack, and primary spear by the door, my back-up in the same corner as the broom, armor hung as best I could on the coat-rack I’d gotten. I know I can be pretty sloppy but I might as well try to start good habits in my new home, and anyway I don’t think my landlord would be thrilled about oil spots on the floorboards.

Last of all, I dug to the bottom of my knapsack and pulled out the small packet wrapped in cloth. I hesitated before unwrapping it, a habit formed from years on the move, when taking out my mementos just to look at them was a good way to risk breaking or losing them. I’d had to content myself with knowing they were there, and limited myself to taking them out only when I needed to _touch_ something and know my past was real.

But I had a real home now. So I fought the hesitation and unrolled the cloth carefully.

The frayed bit of fabric came out first. My uniform from my days with Dydo had been pretty much ruined in the cave-in (yeah, me and Marc _survived_ , but we were far from unscathed, and even dark brown doesn’t completely hide that many stains), but I’d cut the patch with our unit’s crest off of the sleeve. I smiled, rubbing my thumb over the blue jaguar and the yellow-threaded background shield that proclaimed my hard-won second promotion within the unit. Those had been good days. I’d had good friends, too -- Marc, of course, but also Mimel, Kessan, Alexis…

I was shaken out of my melancholy for my lost friends by the dull ting of metal striking the wooden floor. I shook my head at myself and bent to retrieve the coin that had dropped. It wasn’t the actual bronze ten-penny piece that had been my first honest earnings in Cygnus as a kid -- that I’d spent on food right away -- but before I signed up with Dydo I made sure to get another coin of the same denomination and minting year. It had the profile of the king before Garland on one side, and the long-necked mythical bird the city was named for on the other.

When the last of the cloth came off the final memento, I braced myself, but nothing else fell to the floor. Thank goodness. The wooden comb had already lost three teeth by the time I figured out how to wrap it against breakage, and it was the only thing I had left of them.

“Mam, Da, I’ve got a real home now. It’s small, but it’s mine. I think you’d be proud if you could see it,” I said to the comb, and felt a little lighter in my chest.

There was a small shelf on the wall near the closet, about eye-height if you’re kneeling. Sonja had absently referred to it as a Prayer Shelf, so I assume it had something to do with making offerings to the Prophet Noah. Since he was dead I figured he wouldn’t care what I used it for. I kissed each of my mementos -- comb, coin, and badge -- before placing them on the shelf.

Then I took out my key. The landlord had it on a loop of yarn, which was okay maybe if you were some dainty lady but I _work_ for a living, so I changed it for a leather cord before heading out. I locked up carefully, checking that the knob wouldn’t turn, and then tramped down the stairs whistling.

Time for shopping. I could still eat at the mess hall, but since I had my own kitchen, I kind of wanted to use it and feel like I had a _proper_ home. So I went down to the first ward, which is basically where all the shops are -- the commercial district, is what they’d call it in Granorg. In Cygnus they don’t have districts but houses and shops and bars all mixed together.

I got staples at the greengrocer’s -- flour, cooking fat, eggs, bread, cheese, salt, pepper. I wanted starchroot flour but apparently that wasn’t a thing in Alistel, so I got potato instead. Then I stopped by the square where they hold the flea market most days, and got some more cups and plates. The whole exactly-two-of-everything needed fixing, because even if it felt weird to own so much extra _stuff_ it just made me look pathetic. I did a certain amount of public moping the first month back from Granorg, but we were all feeling kind of raw back then. Besides, that was almost half a year ago. I didn’t want people thinking I was the soppy, sighing kind of girl.

On the way back, I ran into a Satyros girl selling apples from a streetcorner. Even if she’d been human I could’ve told you they were from Celestia from how big they were, and how bright and smooth the red skin was. I stopped, sorely tempted. They were _expensive_ , and I’d already spent a lot of money today. But I also remembered how good Celestian apples were.

The fruitseller looked at me, smiling a shopkeeper’s friendly smile. “Would you like to buy an apple, ma’am?” Her hair was red, too, almost the same shade as the apples, and there was something a little familiar in her cheekbones.

“I’ll take two, thanks.” I handed her the coins and picked out two ripe, round apples. “So, um, there’s this Satyros I know, I was wondering if you were related.”

It was the wrong thing to say, I realized almost immediately. Her smile faded to a look of thinly-hidden contempt. “Look, just because we’re both Satyros doesn’t mean I’m related to her, or even that I know her. Are _you_ related to every human in Alistel? I don’t think so.”

“Sorry, sorry, I just meant your hair and face.” I brushed at my own cheeks to show what I meant. “You kinda look like someone named Elm. Her hair’s pinker, though.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “She’s my cousin, actually. I’m sorry, most humans just see the horns and hooves and think that’s enough of a resemblance.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing you get that a lot.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Sorry.”

We chatted a short bit about Elm and how she was officially escorting Aht on her shaman business (which I had known) in the desert (which I hadn’t), but then I remembered I had food to put in the frostbox, so I said goodbye and went home in a cheerful mood.

 

* * *

 

I got to the Redtail tavern a little early that evening and hung around on the corner overlooking the stairs down to the lower level of the second district. There was a railing now, so I leaned on it facing south, walking my gaze slowly down along the street past both districts, to the city’s edge. Alistel’s built kind of like a downhill-running valley, with multiple levels rising higher as you go to the sides, and a wide, flat street down the middle. The Redtail’s on one of the higher levels, so the corner where I was standing gave me a pretty good view of the street and actually most of the first ward.

My heart gave a lurch when I saw a flash of red. I stared, hands clenched tight on the rail and my pulse pounding, as my eyes strained to make out what it was. Whoever it was was standing at an intersection of streets, not moving…

Of course, it was the apple seller. I sighed in disappointment, my heart so low it was probably down in my knees. I felt stupid and sulky.

“Hey. Hey! You with the ponytail.”

I practically jumped as I turned, I was that rattled still from my false hope. Was the shouter talking to _me?_

“Yeah, you,” the man said. He was standing outside the Redtail Tavern where Carlie usually stands, but I’d never seen him before. He must’ve been a new bouncer. He was tall and thin, with short-cropped hair and a tidy round circle of a beard that’s the new fashion. It’s supposed to look like a male Gutral’s facial hair, but on humans I just think it looks like they’ve got an armpit on their face.

“You’ve loitered long enough already. Either come inside or leave!”

Urgh, what was his problem? And why did he have to pick that moment to bug me? “I’m waiting for a friend,” I said curtly.

He looked me up and down with one of those oily looks that makes you want to scrub, and _leered_. Oh, great, the Redtail’s new bouncer is a perv. “Sure you are.” As if that wasn’t rude enough, he smirked, then added, “Go ply your trade elsewhere.”

That feeling of needing to scrub evaporated into white-hot anger. “What the hell do you mean by that?!”

He snorted. “You know exactly what I mean by that. We’re not the type of establishment for your ki- uh…”

“Say that again,” I snarled, gathering lightning around my hand.

“Raynie, please calm down,” a soothing voice said from the vicinity of my left elbow. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

I kept my spell at hand, but toned it down a notch so it wouldn’t accidentally discharge on Marc, standing as close as he was to me. “Did you hear what he called me?” I demanded.

“Captain Marco?” The bouncer straightened, his skeevy grin gone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the woman was with you.”

“I _told_ you I was waiting for a friend,” I snapped. “Not that it should matter who it was.” I let the spell die, unfinished. The tingle of reabsorbed energy ran all the way up to my elbow. I wished I could still zap the guy, but Marc would yell at me, and then heal the damage I did, so there wouldn’t be much point. And I hate getting kicked out of bars before I’ve even had a drink.

“Let me make the introductions,” Marco said diplomatically. He turned to me first. “Raynie, this is Private Bennis. He’s recently been rotated back from the Sand Fortress and he’s in my squad.”

I nodded grudgingly. A lot of soldiers get part-time work as bouncers, and if he was stationed at the border then of course I wouldn’t have seen him. It also explained why he’d smartened up when Marco came.

“Private, this-” Marco paused, and I thought maybe there was just the faintest hint of smugness in his voice as he continued. “ _This_ is Captain Raynie. By the way, we’ll be joining up with her squad next week for maneuvers.”

Bennis’s expression sunk from polite neutrality to a kind of ashen-faced horror while I grinned widely. Technically he was Marco’s man, but when you’re doing joint maneuvers any officer involved can bust your ass if we catch you at a mistake.

“Nice to meet you, Private Bennis.” Oh, yeah, he was going to _regret_ calling me a streetwalker.

“Well, I’m heading in,” Marc said, then looked inquiringly at me.

“Here. First one’s on me.” I tossed Marc a coin. “For helping me move all my stuff up the stairs. I’ll be in for the second round, you know the drill.”

He gave me a wave and disappeared inside. Bennis kept his mouth shut, thankfully, so I went back to lean against the rail. I usually chat a bit with Carlie the other bouncer, because we’re friendly, or read a book, but Bennis was a jackrat and I’d finished the last book Sonja gave me. So instead I looked out over the city.

It was dusk, which gave me a lot to look at. I watched the shadows creep across the city from the east, left-to-right from my view, and then after them the wave of tiny lights twinkling as streetlamps switched on and homes and businesses turned on their inside thaumlights. It was too soon to see stars, and anyway the stars in Alistel are weak, timid things. If you want to see the stars properly, go to the desert. Out there the sky’s like a dome, the stars shining bright and coming down around you on all sides, all the way to the edge of the horizon. There’s not much nice to remember about the part of my childhood I spent travelling with the other folks displaced by the war, but the desert at night is beautiful.

Huh. You know, thinking about it, for all the time we spent in Cygnus and Skalla during the war, I don’t know that we camped out in the desert at all. Well, me and Marco did once, on our way to Cygnus from Skalla, after that slaver sold us to a pervert and split us up from the rest. But with Stocke we spent our nights in cities, the times we were in the desert.

I remembered what the apple-seller had said about Elm and Aht, travelling the desert. _When Stocke comes back, I’ll take some leave and we’ll go visit them, and see the stars_ , I thought, smiling at the city and its constellations of streetlights.

_If_ Stocke comes back.

I pushed the traitor thought away. It’d been cropping up more often lately. _Don’t let what Sonja said get to you_ , I told myself, fighting back panic. _We’ve been in some of the most impossible situations and he always got us through_ somehow _._

I swallowed and blinked, and made myself think about what I’d get to drink. The Redtail doesn’t have the widest selection of booze, but it’s got a couple of my favorite beers. Alistel beers for the most part are more bitter than I like, but they have some good ones.

“Er… why are you still out here?” the bouncer asked, just as I’d decided I’d just get my usual. “Your friend already came.”

I sighed and turned to fix him with a look. “I’ve got more than one friend, you know.” I glanced back south -- by now it was too dark to see the walkers along the main street very well. “But I guess the other one I was waiting for isn’t coming tonight.” I pushed off the rail and headed to the door.

I paused as I went past the bouncer. He’d been an ass, but he was probably looking to get on my good side after earlier, and since Carlie wasn’t here… “Listen, if you see a swordsman all in red with blond hair, tell him Marc and me are inside.”

He blinked. “Um, all right?”

“Good.” And with that, I left both my failed vigil and the annoying bouncer both behind me, and headed into the noisy warmth of the Redtail Tavern.

 

* * *

 

 

Marc was sitting at the bar, an almost-empty stein in front of him. The stools on either side of him were taken, but there was space enough for me to stand between Marco and the guy on his right, who was talking intently with another man.

I clapped my hand on Marc’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His sharp, dark eyes shot up to my face. “No luck?” Like he needed to ask at this point, but in its own way the question had become part of the ritual, on days when I joined Marc for a drink after my little vigil. Familiarity made it comforting in its own way. Even if Stocke’s not here, I’ve still got my best friend. The knot in my chest loosened somewhat.

“Nope.” I leaned against the bar and rapped my knuckles on the scarred wooden counter. The bartender looked over at me. “Brown ale.”

Marco put in his order for a second beer when the bartender brought mine. For a while we didn’t say much, just stood and sat there, drinking our beer.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Sonja asked me to give you something.” He set down his mug and fished around in one of his umpteen pockets and pouches until he produced a small brown package. “She said it was a peace offering.”

I took it. From the size and weight I guessed it was a book, which wasn’t really a surprise. Sonja’s been lending me books for a while now. “Tell her thanks. I guess you two made up, then?”

Marco shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. We both want you to be happy. We just have different ideas of what that means.” He hesitated. “Listen, Alistel might be a little fast to list MIAs as ‘presumed dead’, but I think-”

“Can we talk about something else?” I said, snapping a little. I hate to be sad when I drink. “Say, do you think Sonja’s baby is going to be a girl or a boy?”

Marc took the sudden change in topic pretty well. “It’s too soon to know, of course. But if I had to guess…” He took out a coin and flipped it. “Heads. So, a boy.”

I gave him a light elbow jab. “Flipping a coin doesn’t count. Gimme a real guess.”

He just rolled his eyes at me. “With these things, flipping a coin’s as good a guess as any. What do _you_ think it’s going to be?”

“I dunno! I’m not a medic, that’s why I asked you.”

We bantered a bit more, ‘til our mugs were empty. We got refills, and a pretty girl flirted with Marc. He turned red and stammered excuses, the girl lost interest, and I teased him. The guy sitting next to me finally left, so I got to sit down instead of lean up against the counter.

“You know, Raynie,” Marco said suddenly. He had that serious and slightly-slurred tone that he gets after a couple beers. “Maybe I shoulda given her a chance.”

“Who? Oh, the chick who was hitting on you earlier?” I looked around the room until I spotted her chatting with some girl friends of hers, and gave her another look-over. She was plump and curvy, and her blond hair, looking a bit green under the thaumlights, was cut in a cute bob. “Yeah, you should’ve, she’s hot.” A little short for my taste, but that would suit Marco just fine. There was something familiar about her, so I figured her for another regular.

“Yeah,” Marco agreed, and took a pull of his beer. “But it didn’t seem fair to her.”

“What? You drunk already?” I didn’t think he actually was, but I like to tease. “C’mon, Marc, you’re not a bad guy, and _she_ was the one who came up to you. What in all of that’s unfair to her?” I lifted my mug to my lips.

“Mimel.”

I thunked my mug down on the counter without taking a drink. _That_ was why she’d seemed familiar. She wasn’t Mimel -- our friend was dead now -- but she did look like her. And Marc had nursed a crush on Mimel for _years._ “Shit. I’m sorry, Marc.”

He sighed into his beer. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I offer thanks to Jikanet-Tanaka for critical feedback, Riha for moral support, and Hix for All The Things. And to surskitty, who helped me name Bennis.


	3. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be pushing towards the upper end of a T rating due to some sexual content.

It was full-on dark and then some when I stumbled cheerfully up the steps to my new home. I wasn’t _too_ drunk, but I still had the nice loose feeling and the world seemed softer around the edges. I had a brief moment of panic when I got to my door and the knob wouldn’t turn (one reason I wanted out of the barracks -- no locks on the doors, not even for officer’s quarters), but that quickly turned to giggles when I remembered my key. It took a little bit of fumbled fishing down my shirt to get it out, since the thing had gotten stuck to the skin of one of my boobs.

Once I’d found the switch for the lights, I closed my door, locked it, took off my boots, locked the door again in case it hadn’t worked the first time, and barred it. It was getting kind of warm, so I pulled off my shirt and things on the way to the kitchen, tossing them on the floor as I went.

My preferred hangover-preventer is hot pepper flakes and cumin powder in water, although Marc says the only reason it works at all is the water. I still swear by it anyway. I was halfway through the glass when I remembered Sonja’s peace-gift, which meant searching through my trail of shed clothes.

It _was_ a book, another one of the dollar novels she shares with me. The cheap paper cover featured a guy with muscles like Garland and a busty woman fainting backwards over his arm like she had an extra joint in the middle of her spine. Overall was a little battered. Sonja’s real good with her books, so she must’ve gotten it secondhand. You could see a couple clear creases on the spine, which made me grin. I love being able to tell where the best parts are in a book.

I can never remember the titles of these things, so I didn’t even bother to read this one. I flipped to the back cover.

 _Serene was the perfect doctor: cold, calculating, with no time for the weakness of human emotions. When she finds a one-armed man collapsed on her doorstep, she nurses him back to health and builds him a metal arm. But she hadn’t expected he’d turn out to be the famous Captain Rock, and she_ never _would’ve imagined he’d be the one to warm her cold heart with the heat of passion._

I busted up laughing. I could see now why she’d picked _this_ one as the peace offering; I bet she’d been holding it back for a special occasion, too. I turned back to the front cover, and looking more carefully, I could see that one of “Rock”’s arms was metal-grey, although it still had bulging muscles.

I put it on the small table near the bed, still grinning. I’d have a good laugh reading it later, but I’d have to skim the parts marked by the creases. Using made-up versions of my friends to get my jollies is a bit….. nnnnnggg no, let’s just not go there. So I put it down and went to get ready for bed, which at this point meant finishing my drink and scrubbing my teeth so I didn’t wake up with beer-cumin-pepper breath.

I was glad I’d made my bed earlier, because now all I wanted was to get horizontal and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have done much more than grab a sheet and drape it across the mattress. I didn’t move much once I’d gotten into bed; the straw tick cushioned my tired bones pretty well without having to shift around, and enough beer tends to leave me lethargic anyway.

 _First night in my_ own _home, and all is well_ , I thought contentedly. Having so much stuff was still weird, but having a place with walls and a roof and a kitchen that was _mine_ had seemed like an impossible dream back when I’d been living on the streets of Cygnus. Being in Dydo’s mercenary company hadn’t left me much room for thought of a house except in vague daydreams, since we were on the move so much, and even my first year in Alistel I hadn’t really considered it a possibility. Specint paid a decent wage for the work, but living in the barracks was way cheaper, and felt like a permanent enough lodging at the time.

Funny, I think it was travelling around with Stocke when I started wishing for a proper home. Not because we were living out of tents half the time (which I’ve never minded) and inns the other, but because I started to get this idea of having a place we could all go back to, together, after everything was done. And live a different sort of life, one where we weren’t constantly risking our lives and having to kill other people.

But here I was, in my own home, still a soldier, and alone except for me. I missed the occasional footfalls of someone walking through the hallway; the sense that the building was full of people all around you; even the the annoying squeaky sound Marco’s bed made whenever he moved, loud enough to be heard through the wall even though he was in the next room over.

And I missed Stocke, who I’d promised to make a home with, after it was all over.

I buried my face in the pillow against the sting at my eyes. We hadn’t even gotten to have much of a proper goodbye -- not so much as a _kiss_. We’d hardly even got any kisses as it was! I could remember them all -- four I’d stolen after we’d had our Talk in Skalla, but they’d all been the innocent, quick-press-of-lips kind, or softly on his cheek. And we’d got Eruca on the throne of Granorg (I’m not sure which time, it happened twice and everything’s a jumble) we’d stepped around a corner in the hallway and finally got a chance to kiss _properly._ It had been really nice, ‘til Aht interrupted us.

I didn’t even have something of his to join the other mementos on my shelf -- during the war we all travelled as light as we could, and he wasn’t exactly the sort of guy who just held onto stuff.

He felt so far away.

And it made my chest hurt, too, to think about the huge burden he was carrying around and never so much as hinted at, to know that I never _helped_ him with that.

I was feeling sad and still a bit drunk, so I summoned up my more melancholy fantasy as I slipped my fingers down past the waistband of my drawers. I imagined that somehow, I had known sooner that Stocke was going to leave, and why. And so that night before Heiss came back we’d steal away from the others, and our kisses wouldn’t be soft or innocent. And there would be frantic undressing, and then heat and hands and skin against skin. He’d cling to me like a drowning man to a lifeline (I got that line from a book and I like the way it sounds, like a sort of passionate desperation). And I’d offer him what comfort I could against the weight of his fate, and he’d give me a memory to keep me warm in the long, lonely days to come.

After I’d finished, I lay there with my hand still between my legs, still thinking of what it would be like to have Stocke beneath me.

“Please come home soon,” I whispered into the dark room. “I want to touch you. I want to feel you touch me. I miss you so bad.”

There was no reply, not even the squeak of a mouse or the echos of footfalls in the hallway.

I hate lying to myself, and it was time I’d admitted it: never mind what I’d told Marco -- I had let Sonja talk me into buying a second of everything so this could be Stocke’s home too. With nothing of his I could hold on to, nothing I could _touch_ and know he was real, I was trying to make things that would have been his, if only things had been different. Because all I’d had from him were a few kisses and a promise. A promise I’d even forgotten somehow, at the very end, and hadn’t remembered ‘til after Eruca performed the Ritual.

And who knew what poor _Stocke_ had felt, that I’d forgotten our promise? I’d let him go off to his death with no more than a quick hug and my pledge to wait “because we’re _friends_ ”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to the incomparable Jikanet-Tanaka for beta reading!


	4. Soldiering On

I woke the next morning to a dry mouth, a full bladder, and pinching embarrassment. It’s one thing to be deep-in-the-soul sad, but another to feel so sorry for yourself that you almost cry yourself to sleep. In the morning’s light I was definitely feeling like last night had been the latter sort. At least I hadn’t had the cave-in dream again for months -- I can never get back to sleep after I wake up from that one, and I spend the whole day tired and cranky and angry with myself for not being _over it_ already.

I took care of the first two things and tried to shove away the third. In the bathroom I was tempted by the shower -- we didn’t have ‘em in my hometown or Cygnus, but in both Alistel and Granorg they run water through a pipe in the wall that comes out over your head. It’s like washing in a small waterfall, but a waterfall is cold and these are warm or even hot, so it feels _glorious_. You step out warm and clean all over. But they seem like an awful lot of water to a desert-bred girl like me, and I’d need another one tonight after drill anyway, so this morning I just scrubbed up with a damp washcloth before changing into uniform for work.

Marc and I exchanged waves in the main hall of Alistel’s castle when I got to work, but that was it. His brigade was in the training gym this morning, while mine was usually slotted for the afternoons. I had to sign in at the front desk since Alistel has some annoying regs for officers during peacetime.

“Hey, Tarra, I’m here to clock in,” I told the blonde woman behind the counter. I’ve been sort-of friends with her since during the war, when she ran the recruiting office. Now she’s more of a general secretary, keeping timecards and schedules and so forth.

She passed me a clipboard without looking up from the document she was reading. “Here.”

I marked the time and signed my name. “Thanks. Um, I need some equipment requisition forms, there’s this kid in my brigade who-”

Tarra sighed heavily, slapped her papers on the desk, and rummaged around in another stack. “You would pick today of all days.”

“Sorry. What’s got you so busy?”

“You don’t know?” Her surprise took away some of her grumpiness, it seemed. “General Rosch is taking a full week of leave. It’s completely out of the blue, too, so we’re all scrambling to change schedules and appointments.”

I grinned. “All of a sudden? I guess he wants to spend some quality time with his -- with Sonja.” Alistel actually uses that funny old-fashioned word for going-to-be-wife-but-not-yet -- _betrothed_ \-- but it sounds to silly to actually use outside of a fairy tale or talking about actual royalty.

Tarra looked pained. “That’s the other thing. After months of dragging their feet they’ve _finally_ set a date, and it’s not even two months from now! Since they’re having the wedding here and they’re both in the military, we have to have a proper honor guard and--” she cut herself off. “It’s going to be a logistical nightmare.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure they have a good reason for all of it, though?” I didn’t think I should share Sonja’s news about the baby, especially since Marc had said people would disapprove if they knew.

She sighed. “They’d better. Thanks. Here are your forms.”

I was turning away when I heard her mutter, “I swear, I’m this close to putting the old Recruitment Desk sign up and putting out the word that we’re looking for an experienced wedding planner.”

 

* * *

 

 

I finished filling out my forms and handed them in to the quartermaster, who sighed at least as heavily as Tarra but promised he’d let Claudy come get a fourth replacement practice spear in two weeks. I wish I knew how he kept breaking them. I mean, yeah, they’re only wood, you _expect_ them to break after a certain amount of time, but not every three days.

I was just leaving the quartermaster’s office when I bumped into Sonja. I was a bit surprised to see her here -- medical is in a different part of the castle, with its own supply rooms. Even the field medics go there to get their stuff.

“Raynie?” Sonja said my name nervously.

I smiled at her. “Hey, Sonja. Thanks for the book! I can tell it’s gonna be great.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” she said, but still seemed a little wary. “Do you have a moment? I’d like to talk in private, if that’s all right.”

I did, so we went to the infirmary. It was mostly empty, which I suppose isn’t surprising for peacetime. There was a young man rolling bandages and looking bored, and a woman laying on a cot with an icepack on her head. Training injury, probably.

Sonja nodded at the young man, who assumed a much more serious expression as we passed, and then lead me to her office.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said as soon as she’d closed the door.

“You already did, as far as I’m concerned.” I shrugged and smiled. “You were just worried about me, right? And-”

She shook her head. “It’s not just that. I was also feeling a bit guilty.”

I blinked. “Over what?”

“Because- “ she put a hand over her belly. “Rosch and I made a decision to move on with our lives. Stocke is,” her voice sounded choked, and she cleared her throat. “Stocke is our friend and will always be welcome in our lives if he returns. But we can’t put our own lives on hold until then.”

Is that what everything had been about, that she felt bad for having the wedding before Stocke came back? “I don’t think… I don’t think Stocke would expect you to wait on something like that,” I said slowly. “And, anyway, didn’t Eruca say the White Chronicle lets him move about in time? So he’s got no excuse missing your wedding, whenever you have it.” _Or taking so long to come back_ , I thought, and then immediately tried to un-have the thought.

Sonja shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. But I do feel a bit guilty -- maybe because things are happening faster than expected. We thought it would take a little longer to conceive.”

“Oh. I see.” Trying for a baby is pretty much the _opposite_ of what sex has been about for me, and the one scare I’ve had taught me to be extra cautious. I really had no idea how quickly a baby comes along if you’re actually trying. But Sonja’s a friend and I’m sure she’ll be a great mom, so I tried to look understanding and nodded. “Decided to let the baby set the timing on the wedding, then?”

“Yes.” Sonja paused. “If it’s a boy, we’re naming him Stocke.”

“That’s great, I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that,” I said automatically, because I was still trying to be Good Friend Raynie. Then I gave it some actual thought, and was struck by a sudden, awful, _stupid_ thought that gave me a sick feeling in my gut. I shoved it away and pulled my smile back on. “Actually, I’m sure he’ll be horribly embarrassed. But that’ll be great, too! And I bet when Eruca has kids she’ll call one of ‘em Ernst. So there will be _two_ kids going around named after him. We can tease him no end about it, and once your boy is old enough we’ll say ‘Stocke’ and they’ll say ‘which one’, and-”

Sonja pulled me into a hug. I let her hold me there for a few breaths, then pulled back, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands. Her eyes were wet, too.

“I’m glad you’re having a baby,” I told her, doing my best to make it true as I said it. “And I hope it’s a boy. And stop feeling bad about it! You’re his best friends, Stocke’ll understand. And if he’s not back in time… well, then me and Marco will make sure to take Rosch out for a proper stag night!” A stag night is another Alistelian wedding tradition that I thoroughly approve of, because it involves getting drunk and telling dirty jokes.

Sonja smiled and wiped her eyes. “Even if he is, you might have to anyway. That was never quite Stocke’s sort of thing anyway.”

Once I’d got Sonja suitably reassured that no one was angry at her for going ahead and getting married and making babies and things, and that I could talk about Stocke like everything was fine, I made my goodbyes and left the infirmary.

Then I went around the corner and punched the wall. It hurt, but I figured I’d deserved it for that horrible thought I’d had talking to Sonja. I almost don’t like to admit to what it was, it was that stupid and petty. I’m a soldier, I don’t know the first thing about babies, and as an orphan myself there’s no way I’d want to bring a kid into the world who’s down one parent already. And I don’t even want one right now. But for a blink of an eye I had been terribly, horribly jealous of Sonja, standing there with proof that her man loved her growing right there in her belly.

I punched the wall again, then shook out my hand as my knuckles throbbed.

 

* * *

 

I felt more like myself as the afternoon wore on, yelling at my subordinates as I took them through the day’s drill. I never saw myself as CO material before, but I enjoy the parts of captain-ing where I get to be bossy and teach people how to swing a spear properly.

They all did pretty good, and Claudy got through drill without breaking his new practice weapon. When it was time to let them limp off to the showers I even had some compliments to hand out.

“They’re coming along well,” a voice behind me said, and I turned to find Rosch watching me.

“General Rosch!” I saluted, since the others were still around and I needed to set a good example.

Rosch knew this and made a face at me anyway. I just grinned. Neither of us likes formality much.

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said when the last of them had filed out of the room. “I’m not sure how much credit I can take, though. A couple of them are naturals, they pick it up so fast.” Others, like Claudy, were the opposite of naturals, but I wasn’t going to say so to Rosch. You don’t rat out your subordinates to the head honcho like that.

“Natural talent is good, but it’s nothing without proper training,” Rosch told me. “And today I noticed as they left how much easier _all_ of them seemed carrying their weapons even when they weren’t using them.”

I nodded slowly. In between exercises, they used to clutch their spears awkwardly. On the way in and out of the yard they’d trip over the shafts or swing and accidently hit someone else in the face. Now they carried them like they knew where both ends were without looking, their hands easy on the shafts.

Rosch clapped me on the shoulder, which always startles me when I’m not expecting it because his gauntlet is frankly _huge_. “Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks. I’ll do my best,” I said, then hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck and trying not to seem tense. The praise was nice, but you gotta be honest about certain things, because lives hinge on it, I didn’t know if he’d seen the whole drill. “You know they’re not really battle-ready, though. Not yet.”

“They aren’t,” he agreed. “But we’re at peace. They don’t need to be. Thank Noah -- or whoever -- for that.”

I nodded. Although even after they’ve had enough training I honestly I hope I never have to lead this bunch into battle and be responsible for all their necks. That’s the part of being a CO that scares me, that it’s down to me to keep these men and women alive, that my screw-ups could kill them. I think I understand now why former-Lt.-General Raul rabbited after an operation he commanded went south.

Rosch looked subdued, too, his eyes dark and his jaw set, like he was bracing against something that hurt. Then I realized what he must be thinking of, how during the war he’d been given a brigade of entirely untrained recruits and sent straight to the battlefield.

I winced. I can hardly imagine how he and Stocke must’ve felt, taking a completely green brigade into the fight at Alma Mine. I’d been too busy being a panicky coward about having to go into another damn mine that I hadn’t paid much attention to how those two were feeling. Except…

Except we _hadn’t_ gone to Alma Mine with Rosch. While Rosch’s brigade went to the mine, _we_ ’d been waiting to meet our contact in Lazvril Hills, on our way to Granorg. My head started to fuzz, and I sighed, rubbing my temples.

“Headache?” Rosch asked. Not so much like he was worried as he was looking for something else to talk about.

“Damned double memories again,” I told him, squinching my eyes shut. “Urrgh, I hate it when this happens, I can never keep straight what happened which way.”

He grunted. “At least you can tell when you have them.”

I opened my eyes to look at him. “You can’t? Really?” I’d thought everyone in our group could, but I guess I’ve never compared notes with anyone but Marco. “I thought I was the only one who found it all confusing. Eruca just seemed to know everything, from how confident she was explaining about the two timelines and all, and Aht piped up a lot, you know?”

“Not unless I’m talking to Sonja or someone else and I realize things don’t match up.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know how much is missing, and from which, which- “ he made a grasping motion with his hand, like he was reaching for a word. “ _Version_ of events. And what I do remember doesn’t always match up with how things are today.”

I winced. He had to still be talking about Kiel and the rest, I was sure, because me and Marco weren’t sure what had happened there, either. It seemed to be kind of a crapshoot whether people I remembered dying in one timeline or the other were still alive, and the brigade, well… they hadn’t been among the lucky ones.

“That’s rough. I’m sorry.” And since things were getting more touchy-feely than I know Rosch really likes to get, I changed the subject. “So, looks like we’ve got the courts mostly to ourselves, and drilling my kids involves more shouting than actually swinging my spear around, so I’m pretty fresh. Wanna spar?”

Rosch looked happier for a moment, but shook his head.“I wish I could, but I’ve got to get back to the office and finish up some paperwork before taking leave.” He made a face. “Being a general involves a lot of sitting still. At this rate I’ll soon be so out of shape that I won’t be able to raise my lance.”

I elbowed him, but carefully, because smacking your elbow against that metal arm of his can _hurt_. “I’d say you seem to be raising the lance just _fine_ , going by Sonja’s condition. Nice work, by the way.”

“H-hey, now...” Rosch goes red _way_ too easily over that kind of remark for a career soldier. Or maybe it’s ‘cause I’m not a guy? My old sergeant Cheni was like that, he’d tell the filthiest jokes to other guys without batting an eye, but when I added a verse to one of our marching songs he blushed like a little girl. “So Sonja told you. She said she would.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his real hand and looked embarrassed and pleased at once.

“Congratulations, really, I mean it.” I winked. ”On both achievements. Wedding’s next month, right?”

“That’s right!” He told me the date, and I promised that me and Marc would buy him a drink sometime, and then he left to face every officer’s joy, paperwork. Poor guy, but better him than me.

I ran through my warmup routine, since I’d gone stiff just standing around talking. Stretching, getting my joints loosened up and my muscles warm again, deep breaths to clear my head after all the heavy talk about memories. I did a few pattern-dances to make sure my body remembered them, then merrily beat the crap out of a practice dummy until sweat stuck my shirt to my back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Jikanet-Tanaka for pre-reading, and to Riha for patiently listening to my complaints about everything, including how I don't know enough dirty Jokes for Raynie to tell. :)


	5. Homecomings

The week passed pretty uneventfully. I only went back to the Redtail to wait for Stocke once. Since I’d already spent so much money that week, after it got too dark to read anymore I just went home. It made me itchy to dip so far into my savings, especially on things I couldn’t carry with me, and while I _like_ drinking it’s not actually a necessary expense. Plus I’d been too melancholy lately what with everything, and frankly I’ve seen too many weepy drunks to ever want to be one myself. So since I only went back to the Redtail the one time, I didn’t see the bouncer Bennis again until the day me and Marc had our brigades together.

The plan was to go through warm-up and a little bit of drill and sparring together in the practice courts, then take them out to the hills to do some wargames. It would probably be what my old sergeant liked to call “a fornicating disaster”, so I was really looking forward to it. Me and Marc had agreed in advance how to form up the two units, mixing from both our brigades, as well as who’d lead them.

Marc’s Private Bennis wasn’t a total idiot, because he actually behaved himself when we were all inside. Unfortunately. Still, first-time wargames are usually such a confusing mess that pretty much everyone gives you an excuse to bust their ass, so I made a mental note to keep an eye on him. We were just lining everyone up to march out when a runner came.

“Captain Marco! Captain Raynie!” She skidded to a halt and saluted us. “General Rosch says you are to report to him _immediately_.”

Marc and I exchanged looks. Then Marco returned her salute, reminding me to do the same.

“I thought the General was on leave,” Marco said.

I nodded. “Yeah, so what’s up with calling us to his office?”

“Not his office. You’re to report to the infirmary,” the runner told us.

Marc and I exchanged another glance, just as baffled but much more worried this time. “Is… is he okay?” I asked, wondering if something had gone wrong with his Gauntlet.

“As far as I know, everything’s fine,” she told us, and I couldn’t help sighing in relief. “He’ll meet you there.”

“Private Lavina, Private Pietr, come here,” Marco called, pitching his voice to carry. It’s kind of surprising how deep it goes when he does that, although clearly his bunch were used to it, because only mine looked startled and guilty.

The two soldiers we’d picked to lead separate groups for the wargames trotted up to us, clearly trying to look serious and responsible. They saluted us both, which we returned.

“Captain Raynie and I have been called to a meeting with General Rosch,” Marco told them. “You’re in charge while we’re gone. We’ll send word if we’ll not be back in half an hour. You remember your squad assignments?”

They nodded. Marc’s eyes flicked to me. I guessed he wanted the orders to come from both of us.

I cleared my throat. “Take your squads and lead them through basic exercises. I want everyone good and warm when we’re back.” I added this last at a bellow, so everyone could hear.

Our responsibilities taken care of, we left the gymnasium at a trot and wound our way down to the infirmary.

We met Rosch on the way. He was _beaming_. I don’t ever think I’ve seen him so happy before. I remember thinking, _Oh, has Sonja had her baby already?_ which was stupid, but it was the first thought that popped into my head that could explain his mood.

But then he said, “They’re alive!”

Marc and I shared another confused look. We were doing that a lot today.

“The brigade! They’re all back -- Kiel, Scott-” He ran through all their names.

My heart lept to my throat. Kiel and the rest. _Alive_. _Here_. It seemed impossible. That was wonderful, so wonderful on its own, I wanted to run down to the infirmary and see for myself, see our friends walking about instead of still and cold and hacked to bits. But maybe, just maybe… I opened my mouth but it had gone dry. No words came out.

“Stocke?” Marco asked, since I couldn’t.

Rosch shook his head. “But they have news of him.”

I dashed off down the hall. I was dimly aware that Marco followed after, his feet pounding at double my speed to keep up.

The infirmary was busy, swarming with medics and our lost comrades. At first I just stood in the doorway, staring and trying to check that yes, everyone really _was_ alive and whole, no arms or legs missing, no heads cut off, no black scars across their faces. I saw Daven right off, since he was awkwardly embracing a weeping old lady, and Anders next to them both. Selar was necking with one of the nurses right in _front of everyone,_ so I hoped she was his sweetheart.

Even just one of them would’ve been a sight for sore eyes, but to have the whole brigade back seemed on the order of the miracles the devout Noah-followers talked about. I was probably smiling just as widely as Rosch had been. Then Marco skidded to a halt beside me and sent me toppling forward into the room.

Someone caught me mid-stumble. “Are you alright, ma’am?” the young man asked conscientiously, withdrawing his hands as soon as I was steady on my feet. I looked up to see a pair of green eyes, shining earnestly under a thatch of reddish-brown hair.

“Kiel!” I pulled him into a fierce hug and pounded his back. “Boy, am I ever glad to see you again.” I mean, yeah was glad to see them _all_ alive and well, but Kiel’s always been my favorite. Back during the war he was this sweet puppy of a kid, trying so hard to please everyone. He’d had an adorably obvious crush on Sonja, and an even bigger one on Stocke, which meant he was the same as me in terms of liking both men and women. He seemed awfully confused about it, too, so I kinda took him under my wing for some big-sisterly guidance.

I released him from the hug so Marco could get in his greeting. Being short as he is, Marco just had to settle for shaking Kiel’s hand and pounding his lower back. I looked on, grinning, my eyes scanning up and down. Kiel had been on the short and scrawny side, but he’d put on an inch or two, if I was any judge, and his shoulders looked a little broader than I’d remembered. His big round eyes were the same, but his face was a little longer, and there was pretty heavy stubble all over it.

My puppy was growing up, something I’d never thought I’d see. I couldn’t stop smiling, I was so glad.

“Um, thank you for the warm welcome,” Kiel said when Marc let go of his hand and stepped back. He looked confused, glancing from me to Marc and back again, then straightened and saluted awkwardly but earnestly. “Captains.”

“You know we don’t worry about formality, Kiel,” I told him. “Just our names are fine.”

Kiel looked nervous, which made him look younger again despite the facial hair and extra height. “Er, I’m extremely sorry, ma’am, but I just don’t recall meeting you before. I’m sure we did, it’s just been so long...”

“Kiel, that’s not funny,” I began, my joy starting to turn a little cold.

“You don’t remember us?” Marco said at the same time.

“I’m very sorry, I know it’s horribly disrespectful of me,” Kiel said nervously, fidgeting with his collar, just like he used to when we’d chat about the people he had a crush on. “But I honestly can’t recall it.”

“Did you get hit on the _head_?” I demanded, stung. “Kiel, it’s _us_ , Raynie and Marco, we were-” I was going to say we were in the Rosch Brigade together, but Marco elbowed me sharply.

“Ow,” I scowled down at my friend. “What was _that_ for?”

Marco made a cutting motion with his hand. “We can renew our acquaintance after we’ve spoken with Dr. Sonja.”

“She’s in the side room, with Derrek,” Kiel said helpfully. “They’ve been checking us all out to make sure we’re healthy and debriefing us. I don’t know why we all have to give our stories separately, though.”

“Standard procedure,” Marco said glibly. “C’mon, Raynie.” He grabbed me by the arm.

I let him drag me away from Kiel. I took one last glance back at him, feeling a bit like an abandoned puppy myself.

He wasn’t the only one who didn’t care about us, I realized. While the rest of the brigade smiled at us or eyed us curiously, none of them approached us or even waved. Selar was still making out with his girl -- get a _room_ you, two! -- so I’m not surprised he didn’t notice us, at least. I heard one cry of recognition, but when I turned to look the speaker was running towards the doorway.

“Pretty cold of them. It’s like we never met before,” I muttered to Marc as we stood outside the door to the examining room Kiel had pointed us toward. “What’s up with that?”

“I’m guessing it’s because we didn’t, from their perspective,” Marco said quietly. “There were two timelines, remember?”

I felt like an idiot. “Oh, of _course_.” I sighed, and felt my indignance leave me with the breath. If they were here and _alive_ , then it stood to reason they only remembered the timeline without us. Still… “It kind of sucks, though, that we all used to be friends and now they don’t even _know_ us. It wasn’t all bad memories, back in the Rosch Brigade. There were happy ones too.”

“Yes,” Marco agreed. “Being forgotten hurts.”

I noticed the set of his jaw, and a look in his eye, and was just debating whether to ask him if it was just this or if there was something else he was thinking of, when the door opened and Sonja came out. She didn’t look down like me and Marco felt, but she had a kind of thoughtful frown and her eyebrows were pinched, like she gets when she’s working out some complicated Thaumatech thingy.

She smiled at us, though. “Oh, good, I’m glad the runner found you. Isn’t it wonderful? They’re all alive.”

“Yeah, ‘cept they don’t remember us.” Then I realized I sounded like an ungrateful jerk. “But if that’s the price we gotta pay to have them back alive, it’s worth it.”

“They don’t?” Sonja blinked, her brows coming together again thoughtfully. “Hmmm.”

“I agree, it’s absolutely worth it,” Marco said, then quietly explained what we’d figured about remembering only the one timeline.

Sonja listened, nodding. “Well, that might account for some of what I’ve noticed, then.” She looked at us both. “With Rosch’s permission, I think you should sit in on the next debriefing. It’s better if you hear things directly from one of them.”

 

* * *

 

Once Rosch showed up, both Sonja and Marc wanted a word with him. While they had their hushed conversations I stood around on the edge of the room, getting kind of antsy. Kiel and the rest didn’t remember me and Marco, but Rosch had said the brigade had news of Stocke. So did they remember him but not us? Or had he sent a message through them? Or something else?

 _Finally_ , Rosch and the others finished up their talk. Kiel was called over, and then we all moved into the tiny examining room. There weren’t enough chairs so Kiel had to stand.

Rosch made introductions like we’d never met Kiel before and hadn’t hugged the poor boy into confusion just ten minutes ago. “These are Captains Raynie and Marco. They were involved in the search when the Brigade went missing.” It was weird to hear my title coming from him, given how long I’d thought of _him_ as “the Captain”.

“Forgive our overfamiliarity earlier,” Marco said. “We met only briefly during the war, and happened to observe your brigade training once or twice. We’ve spent so long looking over your files during the search that we’d forgotten how brief our actual acquaintance was.”

I blinked at Marc, but Rosch and Sonja didn’t seem at all surprised. I guess they’d decided to hide everything from the Brigade? I guess it made sense, since the two-timelines-thing wasn’t really our secret to tell, but still it didn’t sit quite right with me.

But Kiel seemed relieved by the explanation. “Ah, I understand. It’s all right, really, Captain.” He smiled brightly, eyes aglow. “So many people were hoping for our safe return, I had no idea! It’s like having friends I’ve never met before. Thank you for your hard work on our behalf.” He saluted me and Marco.

“You’re welcome,” I said, wishing I could hug him instead of just returning the salute. Marco echoed me.

Rosch cleared his throat. “In any case, I’d like these two to hear your report. I know you’ve given it already, but it’s better for them to hear directly from you.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Kiel cleared his throat and straightened, standing at attention. “Capta- General Rosch! Sir!”

“At ease, soldier,” Rosch said, smiling in a fatherly sort of way rather than grumbling like he usually does when people he likes insist on using his title. “Your report is more important than formalities.”

Kiel took a deep breath. “After we got separated from you, we met a man who was used to living off the land. He patched up our wounds and said-”

Rosch cleared his throat. “Back up. A little more detail on when and how you were separated from me. For the records.”

“Oh.” Kiel looked confused, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. Let’s see… we were on the way to Celestia with Captain Rosch. Our brigade met with Alistel forces. After we got separated from the Captain, we--- sorry, you asked how we were separated.” He raised a hand and rubbed the side of his face. “The fighting was heavy and chaotic, so during the confusion our group was split several times. At one point I found myself alone, I think.”

“You think you were alone?” Rosch pressed.

Kiel looked embarrassed. “I’m not sure. It was a while ago, and it was pretty confusing at the time. I remember I was surrounded by Granorg soldiers -- heavy infantry. They’re faster than I thought, and got me up against a cliff. I thought I was done for. Then out of nowhere a man grabbed my arm, and yanked me out of the way.” Kiel rubbed his temple again. “The man helped us patch up our wounds, and he was used to living off the land, so-”

“What’d he look like?” I blurted out. The only way I’d kept still so long was gripping the edge of my seat, and my fingers were going white and numb from it. Rosch had said they had news of Stocke, and here was this man showing up in the middle of everything saving the day. It had to be Stocke. “Did he tell you his name?”

Kiel shifted his weight nervously. “I, er…”

“It’s fine, just say what you told me,” Rosch said.

This seemed to reassure Kiel. “He had blond hair and was dressed in red clothes.”

Stocke. Stocke. It _had_ to be him. Had to be. Marco gripped my arm tight, like he thought I was going to bolt or fall over or something. I tried to shake him off, but he held firm.

It was okay, though, because Kiel wasn’t done talking. “The man was a little taller than me, but not so tall as Cap- General Rosh.” He tugged at his collar. “And I’m sorry, I feel truly awful, he helped us so much and he told us his name, I know he did, but I swear to Noah I can’t remember it now.”

I tried to lunge forward, but Marco was still holding me back so I stopped. I didn’t realize how tight his grip on my arm got until later, when I saw he’d left marks. “Stocke. His name. Was it Stocke?”

“I have no idea.” Kiel looked really dismayed. “I’m so very sorry.”

“You said he helped treat your injuries,” Sonja noted, her voice gentle but firm like when she’s talking to a patient. I think we all settled down a little at it. “Did he use medicines and bandages, or magic?”

“Both,” Kiel answered promptly. “There were too many of us to use magic on everything, so at first he just took care of the worst that way, and we all bandaged each other up for the rest.”

Sonja nodded and set down her pen. I realized, pretty late I know, that she’d been writing down notes of everything he said. She looked over at the page, and for a moment I could swear she looked baffled, but when she looked up again her expression was calm and doctorly again. “You say ‘at first’. Did he use more magic later on, to heal other injuries?”

Kiel looked confused. “I… well, I suppose so? I mean, we’ve been gone a while, and everyone’s fine now. I guess he kept coming back to our camp, making sure we were okay.”

“Did he use any other magic?” Marco asked.

“I don’t- oh! Yeah, he did. He lit the campfire for us with it.”

Rosch asked some questions, too, and Kiel told us more details about him and the brigade. They’d camped out in some valley not too far from Alistel, waiting until everyone was healed. Stocke -- well, Kiel called him “the man who helped us” or “the man in red clothes”, but I knew it was Stocke -- had helped them live off the land for a bit. Kiel gave us some boring details about the foods they ate and things, which I sat and listened through in hopes of some clue as to Stocke’s whereabouts, or plans. He repeated himself a lot, I guess because he was nervous.

Sonja then asked Kiel to describe the day of his tenth birthday, which seemed to me completely out of nowhere. Kiel seemed surprised, too, but he cooperated, talking about how he carried messages between groups of miners, and at supper there was meat and someone gave him his first strigibird chick. I’d thought he just kept them for pets, but I guess they were useful after all -- Kiel told us they see in the dark, and get sick before humans if the air is bad.

“One final question, I think,” Rosch said, glancing at Sonja, who nodded. “When did you last see this man?”

“Just moments before we walked into you, Captain,” Kiel said, and continued in a scolding tone. “And making graves for us as if we’re dead wasn’t kind!”

“You’ve been gone for over half a year, you might have sent word,” Rosch groused back. But if he had more to say I didn’t let him.

“Where did you walk into them?” I demanded. “And when?” I needed to get to out front of the Redtail, so Stocke would be able to find me. Who knows how much time I’d wasted already, listening to Kiel go on about fish and strigibirds and…

“Down in the hills,” Rosch said. “Not too far from where you two were planning to take your own units, I think.” He hesitated, and looked at Kiel. “Thank you for your report. You’re dismissed.”

Kiel saluted us all and left the room. We were all quiet enough that I clearly heard the sound of the door latching when he closed it behind him.

Rosch cleared his throat. “First things first. I imagine you both want to go look for Stocke. I do too, but I have my responsibilities here.”

He’d said us both, but everyone, including Marco, was looking at me. My nerves were fizzing, and I still felt like running out of the room to go find Stocke, but at the mention of me and Marc’s plans to take our units out for maneuvers I got other feelings tugging at me. About the good officers I’d served under -- Dydo and Kessan, and Rosch and Stocke himself. About the Rosch Brigade and Kiel, all alive again. And about my own brigade, the trainees who had never held a weapon before I stepped up in front of them all and showed them how. “Yeah, I _want_ to, but I don’t think we should.”

“You don’t?” Marco sounded completely confused. “But Raynie, if Stocke’s-”

“Yeah, I _know_. But.” I looked away. I had a hard time enough time finding the words for something like this, and I didn’t need Marco staring at me like I’d gone off my head. “But. The wargames are an important part of training, you know? I know some of your folks were at the Sand Fortress during the war, but mine are all green as grass. I owe it to them, to make sure that they’ve got as good a chance of surviving a real fight.” I swallowed. “At least, that’s what I think. And I think Stocke would say the same. Right?”

I glanced up at Rosch, who looked gravely back at me but didn’t so much as shake or nod his head. So I pressed on. “He was your Lieutenant, so he had a duty to Kiel and the rest, same as you. And before he came back to any of _us_ , he went and made sure they were okay. So I gotta do the same with my own people.”

I shut up after that, not looking at anyone but Rosch.

“Well,” he said finally. “That was quite the speech.”

I frowned. I had figured Rosch out of anyone would understand me the best about this, but I couldn’t read his tone at all. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it means you surprised us all, in a good way,” Marco said. “I’m impressed. I didn’t you took your duty so seriously -- we’re trying to _compliment_ you,” he added quickly when I shot him a glare.

Rosch chuckled. “It means, _Captain_ Raynie, that I expect a full report on the events of today’s training.” He paused. “But not until I return from my leave. Which I’m technically still on.”

Sonja patted his shoulder and smiled. Rosch smiled back, putting his hand over hers. I smiled -- they’re so cute together, and all my earlier jealousy had flown away now that I knew Stocke was coming back.

Rosch caught me and Marco watching him having a moment with his wife, reddened, and waved his hand. “Go look after your people, you two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an extremely challenging chapter for me to write, and it wouldn't be in the shape it is now if it weren't for the help of both Catteries, who helped me catch some things I was communicating incorrectly, and Jikanet-Tanaka, whose asked some really crucial questions that helped me see how to bring the chapter to a close. My sincere thanks to them both.


	6. Sunrise

Our troops were running laps when we got back to the practice courts. We let them run two more before we called a halt, because part of being a CO is knowing when to be evil. While Lavina and Pietr weren’t actually officers, we _had_ picked them to lead squads for the training exercises, so if we weren’t bigger hard-asses than them we’d be undermining their authority, and losing some of our own besides.

Then we had to let them cool off and get their gear together before marching out. I swear twenty minutes never took so long before in my entire life. I wanted to get out to the hills _now_ , so we’d be done all the sooner, but also so we had a chance of running across Stocke. I didn’t think he’d show himself, not to so large a group, but he might lurk around in the bushes or with his vanishing trick once he saw me and Marco heading up the column.

“You know he’s going to hear us coming before we’d be able to catch sight of him,” Marc said to me out of the side of his mouth as we lead the way down to relatively flatter ground.

“Of course I know that,” I said offhandedly, like I hadn’t been scanning the horizon for a flash of red every time we crested another hill. To distract him, and myself, I said, “Hey, remember our first wargames with Dydo’s group? How totally crazy everything seemed compared to just drill and sparring?”

“I remember having to heal a lot of broken fingers because ‘dead’ soldiers had to stay on the ground and people kept stepping on their hands,” Marco replied. “I also remember you were the first one out and you sulked for a week.”

Urgh, it figures Marc would remember that part. I’d had to sit on the ground, getting tripped over and watching all my training friends run around having a jolly time smacking each other. I waved a hand and tried for nonchalant. “Pffff, no way, it was a couple days, tops. My sarge shouted it out of me, remember?”

“I do.” He paused. “Do you expect to have to do the same for any of your trainees? I have my eye on a few of my own.”

“Yeah, a few. Claudy -- he’s the walking disaster I told you about. And Barrus and Persephone are getting awful self-satisfied.” Actually, if the last two didn’t screw up today I’d have to find a way to make sure they did soon, or else they wouldn’t know how to cope with failure when it hit ‘em later one.

Marco nodded but didn’t say anything else. We’d just crossed over another hill’s peak, so I scanned the horizon. Not that I expected anything, Marc was right, Stocke would hear us miles away and disappear. But maybe once he saw us, he’d let us have just a glimpse? To let us know he was about?

I really hoped he’d stay and watch our wargames. I wanted to show him what I’d done with myself, the months that I’d been away - how way more responsible I’d gotten than even I’d thought I could be. Show him what my bunch had made of themselves, too.

We finally got to the gentler hills we’d picked for the site. But we _still_ couldn’t start, ‘cause we had to go over the rules again. Since the point of this exercise was to introduce them to melee combat, most of the rules were about what counted as “disabling” or “lethal” injuries. Then we had let Lavina and Pietr go over their plans with their squads. I started pacing ‘cause I was about going mad with impatience to get started, but Marc glared at me and I had to stop.

 _Finally_ everyone had their chalked weapons and knew their plans and had heard the rules so many times half of them probably knew them down by heart, and we got started.

Within minutes we’d had to call a good ten people out. I was a bit disappointed that Barrus was one of them, I’d hoped he’d do better than I had as a trainee. But he did need the wake-up call

There were some good surprises, too -- Bennis may be an ass but he can keep his head in a fight, and Claudy, under Pietr’s command, actually took out Persephone! Both of them seemed pretty stunned when Marco called Perse out of the games. I tried to keep it in the back of my mind that Stocke might be watching us all from somewhere nearby -- trying to be professional and focus on what I owed my people -- but I _really_ hoped he saw Claudy’s moment of triumph there, I was so proud.

In the end Pietr and Lavina were down to a handful of fighters each -- Pietr had Bennis and a another man who’d been at the Sand Fortress at the tail end of the war. Lavina had my Luccia and Reon, as well as some lanky lad of Marc’s -- all her more experienced people had been from Marc’s group, and she’d sent them all on the first charge, I guess hoping their experience would give her the advantage. It had at the start, but now all she had were newbies. And with even numbers to Pietr but less experience, once they clashed again it would be over fast.

And it was, although Luccia and Marc’s lad did real good even so. You could see Bennis and Pietr had seen actual combat before -- both of them plain out ignored blows that at full strength would’ve incapacitated them but here were pulled for safety, I guessed ‘cause they didn’t _feel_ that bad, so the guys thought they’d been glancing or missed.

“Pietr! You’ve lost your shield arm,” Marco called. “Bennis, you’re dead.”

Pietr lowered his left arm with clear irritation, but Bennis kept on hammering Lavina with blows that she was barely dodging or blocking, ignoring Marco’s words and the red chalk that crossed both his shoulders and his belly besides. “Bennis! Bennis, you’re _out_ ,” I bellowed.

He started guiltily, but not before he caught Lavina across the chest. Being used to sparring rules and not real fighting, Lavina immediately dropped her spear in surrender and stepped back.

“Halt! Officer down,” Marco called, and the last combatants lowered their weapons. “Captain Raynie?”

I trudged over. “Do we give the victory to Pietr’s squad or not,” he asked me. “The last blow was invalid, but--”

I groaned. “I know, I know. Lemme think.” I hate having to figure out messy what-if-it-happened-differently scenarios. I was proud of Lavina, and since she was one of my folks and did good against a more experienced opponent I’d wanted her to win, but I had to be fair. That was part of the job. Plus Stocke was probably watching -- I wanted him to see me doing the right thing. “Lavina could’ve gotten lucky, but probably not -- Reon was down before Lucia got Bennis. Victory to Pietr’s side.”

“Victory to team Pietr,” Marco called out, and there was a ragged cheer from that half of our troops. “Now for penalties.”

Everyone groaned. I grinned, looking down at the list I’d marked during the exercise. “Grenchel. Ignored calls of “dead” twice. Forty pushups. Alan. Disobeyed your squad leader’s orders. Twenty pushups. Kamyu -” I went down the list, assigning punishments. Most went according to the standard penalties Marc and me had drawn up in advance, but here and there I went a little easier or harder depending. Barrus had only made a tiny mistake, but he needs to learn he doesn’t crap gold just ‘cause he’s a natural talent, so I gave him double. Claudy does so many pushups already for all his goofs in drill I cut his by ten.

And then there was Bennis. I called out his name. “Bennis. Ignored calls of “dead” three times.” He was standing close, so I looked at him.

He looked back at me. You could see he was expecting me to take it out of his hide for what he’d said to me back at the bar last week. “Sixty pushups.”

From the stunned look on his face he knew I’d only given him the standard penalty, and he’d been expecting worse -- much worse.

He wasn’t the only one. “I’m surprised you didn’t come down on him harder,” Marco said quietly as everyone trudged back to the castle, after we’d finished up penalties and treating injuries and all the boring bits that follow field exercises.

I shrugged. “If this had been yesterday, I would’ve. But I don’t really care anymore. Why carry a grudge on such a happy day?” Kiel’s alive and home. _Stocke_ was coming back.

“I’m just glad you managed to keep your mind on the fight and not daydream all afternoon about how you plan to welcome Stocke back,” my friend said cheerfully. The little bastard went on to add, “But I forgot, you like bossing people around just as much as--”

I shoved him playfully. “Shut up, you.” I couldn’t stop grinning though. “I’ve been good all afternoon. I didn’t start thinking about it until you brought it up. Of course, now that you remind me, I did have a couple of ideas...”

Marc rolled his eyes. “I’ll be at the Redtail at the usual time. If you two can’t wait to, uh, renew your acquaintance until I get there, at least leave a message with the barkeep, please?”

“I think we can probably wait the three minutes it takes to come find you and say hi," I told him, too cheerful to be offended. “Besides, you know Stocke’ll want to see you and Rosch and Sonja, too.”

 

* * *

 

I raced home as soon as I could, almost forgetting to sign out on my way. Once home I flung my uniform and underclothes off, showered as fast as I could, and then spent a stupid amount of time digging through my closet to see if I had anything even remotely nice.

I didn’t, not really, because for years I didn’t see the point of clothes that would hamper you in a bar fight. Plus I sort of wanted to dress like I did when I was travelling with Stocke, so he’d recognize me right off. So I dug out the long coat I’d picked up in Skalla -- I’d since lopped the sleeves short so it wouldn’t be too warm in summer. It was blue, too, like most of what I’d worn back then.

I pulled on clean dark trousers and wrapped my chest tightly with a clean white cloth, like I do for training and fighting so I don’t jiggle all over the place. Then I shrugged on the blue jacket and cursed as I struggled with the buttons. I’d bought it towards the end of the war and I’d gotten kinda scrawny by then, with all the running around and constant fighting. Peacetime meant I could put some weight back on, and bulk up against Alistel’s winter or the next lean times.

I gave up on the buttons ‘cause it was better to show my chestwrap than to look like I was going to spill out of my coat. Plus I figured Stocke would appreciate the view, you know? Then I looked down at myself, critically. It just didn’t seem like quite enough, not when I was going to see Stocke for the first time in ages. The jacket had nice round yellow buttons, which reminded me that I do have earrings, so I dug those out too.

It took a little work to get them back in -- one of the holes had started to close when I’d gotten sloppy with a Regenerate spell-- but I cared less about how it hurt to jab it open again and more about just getting dressed so I could get to the Redtail before Stocke showed up.

I _almost_ forgot to lock my door behind me. I remembered at the bottom of the steps, and had to go all the way back up, cursing myself for every lost second.

Then I realized I’d left my dirty clothes all over the place, so I had to run back up the steps _again_.

I cleaned up frantically, shoving dirty clothes under the bed, actually _making_ the bed for once. Not that I expected it would stay that way for long once we got back, hehe. The kitchen didn’t need sweeping up, there was only one dirty plate in the sink, and the bare table was well-scrubbed, but on the whole it was pretty tiny and bare. I never had really decorated it, which was kind of sad because the thing I remember best from the house I lived in as a kid was how warm and welcoming the kitchen was. When Stocke came back, I wanted him to feel at home here.

So I set out two places on the table, across from each other. I even put out cloth napkins.

 _Now_ my home was ready to welcome Stocke. And I was too. I set back out again, whistling cheerfully to myself.

 

* * *

 

The first thing I noticed when I got to the Redtail was a clear absence of swordsmen in red, which was a relief and a disappointment -- I wanted to see him again, but didn’t want to miss his return and make him wait, you know?

The second thing I noticed was that Bennis was bouncing again. I approached him, although carefully. I wasn’t sure how he’d taken my mercy at exercises today.

“Hey. I’ve got a friend coming, I’m gonna wait for him over there.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the corner.

“Got it. Nice tat, by the by.” He nodded at me in a friendly way.

“What?” I was _pretty_ sure he hadn’t said ‘nice tits’, not now, but after our less-than-stellar introduction I couldn’t be too sure.

“Nice tattoo. On your arm.”

Like a dummy I glanced down. The dark shape of the Beast Mark on my left arm just about peeked out under the edge of my short sleeve. “Oh. Right. Thanks.” I pulled up the sleeve so he could get a better look.

The four-clawed animal’s foot is not what I’d have picked out for myself for a tattoo -- I’d probably get Dydo’s jaguar. But we didn’t exactly get a choice (or any warning, honestly -- everything made it sound like it was an object, not a freaking magically-appearing tattoo) when we got the Beast Mark. It’s not terrible, and at least it’s in a place that’s easy to cover up. Which I do a lot; the Beast Mark is one of those things where my double-memories are the most confusing. I remember everyone getting one in the Holff Ruins, but I also remember only Stocke having it...rggh, just thinking about it makes my head hurt.

“What’s it symbolize?” Bennis asked me. I tried not to sigh; he was actually being pretty decent. But I also don’t like explaining how it’s an important diplomatic ceremonial honor, because that seems like bragging and anyway I think the diplomatic bit really only applies to Eruca and Stocke. If me or Marc tried to negotiate with Forgia I’m pretty sure they’d just laugh.

“Got it in Forgia,” I told him. “The Gutrals gave it to me and my friends for killing a giant spider.” Which was true enough.

Bennis looked impressed. “Wow. One of those hell spiders? And you walked away in one piece?”

“Mostly one piece. Hell spiders are nasty business.” I rubbed my arm, the one that didn’t have the Beast Mark. “It got me in the shoulder. Good thing Marc’s so good with healing magic, I’ve hardly got a scar.” And I didn’t really, unless you counted the thin pale line that’s left when magic’s used to close a wound that’s just at the limit of the caster’s ability to heal. In this case, we’d all been tapped pretty dry after the fight. Stocke had bandaged me up on-site and Marco healed it later, after he’d recovered his magical reserves.

We chatted a bit about fighting monsters. Bennis wasn’t totally green, as he’d shown at the wargames today, so I asked about his experiences. He hadn’t seen any major action during the war, but he’d fought bandits and monsters and done some mop-up near the end.

A few muscleheads with their own array of tattoos walked past us. Bennis let them through, although he eyed the last one unhappily.

“I hate guys who think those tattoos make them look tough,” he complained once the men were all inside. “What, do they think we’re going to think they came back from the dead? We all know it’s just a tattoo.”

“Oh, he had a death-scar tattoo?” I hadn’t seen it, but scowled at the very the thought of _faking_ the distinctive scars that you get when you use healing magic to close the wounds of someone who’s already dead. “I really hate that. I bet _he’s_ never had to lay out one of his buddies for the pyre, their faces and arms all crossed in black.”

“It’s really disrespectful,” Bennis agreed, nodding. “Wait… pyre?” He looked at me with a strange amount of concern.

“Yeah. You know me and Marc used to be mercs, right? The unit didn’t own land, and you don’t want wild animals digging up graves, so we burned our dead when we could.” I shrugged, but I didn’t feel anywhere near as offhand as that -- this was getting depressing. I wanted to be cheerful when Stocke showed up. “So, uh, you got any tattoos of your own?”

Bennis shook his head. “No. The Prophet Noah frowned on them. He spoke against marking ourselves in ways that would set us above our fellow man. But of course he never did, really.” Now it was his turn to sound bitter. “There was no Noah all that time.”

“Wait, wasn’t he a real guy, like five or ten years ago?” I was hazy on the exact timing of when he’d disappeared from the public. “Field Marshal Viola knew him, I thought that book was supposed to be her journal from travelling with him and things.”

Bennis just shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m no scholar. I just know Hugo was a damnable liar.”

That much I could agree with. So for a while we stood around talking about how awful Hugo was for a bit, and how glad we were that he was dead and gone, and how amazing the Field Marshal is, because _really_ , how can you not appreciate someone like her?

Marc showed up about then. So the three of us talked about the day’s training a bit, until Marc said, “What with everything that happened today, I think we’re due a celebratory drink or two, Raynie. I’m going inside.”

“I’ll join you once Stocke shows up,” I promised, and went to stand at the railing to wait for my absent swordsman, warm in the knowledge that _today_ , at last, he’d come home.

I was still waiting for him at dawn.

 


	7. Running on Fumes

The worst part that morning was going in to work, feeling like crud and knowing I’d have to somehow write my report on yesterday’s training exercises even though I was only upright ‘cause I took three anti-sleeps. My hair was still wet (it had rained some around three o’clock in the morning) and my throat was starting to go scratchy. Everything felt numb and kind of grey and detached, like the world wasn’t all the way there.

No, wait, I’m wrong. That was bad, but really the worst part was how I’d have to somehow avoid Marc and Sonja and Rosch, because I just couldn’t take their pity. It would’ve been easier to face them if I thought they’d jeer at me for being an idiot, did you _really_ think he’d be back this time. Or tell me to man up and stop moping -- do you think you’re the only one ever who had someone go MIA, at least you got some word of him, that’s more than most get, at least there’s still a chance he’s _alive_. But they wouldn’t do that, ‘cause they were good friends, and I knew that I’d go to pieces in the face of their kindness.

No. The worst, the really worst part of it all, was going home without Stocke, knowing maybe he’d never be back, and it was probably my fault.

There weren’t too many people around when I slipped in. I’d changed my uniform but that was it -- staying in my empty apartment for any longer was more than I could stand -- so I guess my messy hair was why Tarra shot me a strange look when I logged in. Or maybe it was because I’d come in so early, since, you know, I’d been up at dawn anyway.  

Still, even with the halls so empty, I really didn’t want to deal with anyone. I walked quick and set my jaw like I was on an errand, and the two soldiers I crossed paths with didn’t even bother to say hi, just nodded and walked on past.  Invisibility would’ve been nicer, but I never had time to get Stocke to teach me just how he did his trick.

There were a lot of things I never had time to do with Stocke.

Anyway. I could dodge Sonja (who was probably in a whole different part of the building right now, if she wasn’t still at home, I think she said being pregnant makes you tired, right?) and Rosch (who you can hear coming a mile away), but I wasn’t sure what to do about staying away from Marc. There’s a common room of sorts for officers at my level, who have some paperwork but not so much we need our own offices. I stuck my head in warily, but since nobody else was there I figured it was safe for the time being.

My plan was to get the report written as fast as I could, and then get the hell out of there, before Marco came in. He’d stayed at the Redtail until closing time, and he staggered a bit on his way out, so I was kinda hoping he’d oversleep for once in his life.  I took the table and chair furthest from the door, facing away from it, so I wouldn’t have to see anyone’s faces if they came in while I was working.

The paper they provided for reports and other paperwork was the weird bright white of all of Alistel’s paper. I stared at it for a bit. Then I wrote the title of my report. And stared some more.

I had maybe a couple lines done when I heard the door open. I shook off my stupor and started writing again.

“Raynie…?” Shit, it was Marc.

“Hey, Marc. You’re in early.”

“So are you.” I heard the sounds of a chair scraping back and figured he was sitting down. Figuring I was safe, I went back to staring at my report. Eventually I added another word. Getting words on the page was kind of like having to drag a sledge through mud.

Then he cleared his throat, _right behind me_ , and I jumped.

“Raynie, I…”

I fixed my eyes on the blank page in front of me. “Yeah, yeah, you can borrow my notes for your report when I’m done with ‘em.” I waved a hand beside my head. “I’ll want yours, too.”

“Your hair’s wet.”

“It needed washing.”

“It rained last night.”

“Oh, did it? Good for the farmers, this time of year.”

He didn’t say anything in reply, just (guessing by the footsteps, which I heard this time), walked away. Then there was another scrape of a chair.

I stared at the page, but eventually I stopped seeing it. Sometime after it had started raining last night I got to thinking about the second Specint mission Heiss sent me and Marco on  with Stocke. It had been raining that day, too. Since Stocke was still on the casualty lists technically, we were there as backup, but he hadn’t needed us. Remembering it had got me thinking: what did Stocke need _me_ for, really?

Yeah, I’m easy on the eyes and know how to have fun and I like to think I’m pretty good in the sack. But that’s a reason for a short fling, not a real relationship, you know? And anyway there’s always someone better-looking, so I know better than to just bank on that.

And on top of it all he’s a _prince_. I’d never have bothered asking him to come away with me back in Skalla if I’d known that. Fairy tales are one thing, but I’m a common-as-muck ex-merc. You don’t chase a desert hare from a sandworm’s back. Eruca had always seemed a bit confused, that me and Stocke were together. Maybe ‘cause she knew he could do better. And I had to wonder if he’d have asked me to be with him after the war, if he’d known who he really was.

I’d certainly given him reason to regret it after.

_You fucking idiot._

The corners of my eyes, dry all night and morning, started to prickle.

“Raynie?”

I looked up at Marco. “What’s up?” I made a show of yawning and rubbing one eye with a hand, to cover how I felt.

I don’t know how well I did, ‘cause Marc was awfully slow to respond. “It’s lunchtime,” he said, after staring at me a bit while I tried to look casual. “I’m heading to the mess.”

I looked back down at my still mostly-blank page. “I wanna get this bit finished.” I made a shooing motion, not looking at him, and held my pen above the paper. “You go on ahead. I’ll eat when I’m done.”

There was another long pause before he replied. “All right. See you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 Sometime while he was gone, the last of the anti-sleeps wore off. Not that I knew this until I got shaken awake.

 “Mmr… wha? Gah!” I jerked back, away from the looming face of Marco. I shoved my chair back to make more room between us and acted cross to hide that my head was still fuzzy. The back of my throat tickled. “Geeze, I just closed my eyes for a moment, you don’t need to get in my face about it.”

 “You were snoring and drooling on the paperwork,” Marco replied flatly. When I was sitting, his eyes were a little above mine. He looked down at me. “What time did you go home last night?”

 “Uh, early?.”

 He folded his arms and just _looked_ at me. Belatedly, I remembered that he’d stayed until the bar closed.

 “Did you even go home at all, Raynie?” he asked quietly.

 “Yeah, I did. Just, y’know, after you.” The tickle in the back of my throat was getting worse.

 He continued to look at me, frowning. I coughed, meaning just to clear the tickle and fill the silence with something, but once I started I had a harder time stopping than I expected.

 Marco’s frown deepened, and he reached out and put a hand on my forehead for a moment. When he pulled away, his eyebrows came together, and he shook his head.

 “You _idiot_ ,” I heard him mutter. He sighed, then went on more loudly. “You are going to the infirmary-”

 “I’m fine, really-”

 “- where you are going to sleep for the next four hours. At least.”

 If I’d been feeling better I’d have argued longer, but after my interrupted doze, getting properly horizontal sounded like a real nice thing right then. “Fine,” I grumbled, standing up. The room swam a little, then settled. “I’ll go. But I’m not an idiot.”

 “I didn’t mean you,” he said, taking my sleeve firmly in his hand as we stepped out the door. “Raynie, the infirmary’s _this_ way.”

  

* * *

  
I was more myself after a proper sleep. I probably didn’t get a full whatever hours Marco wanted, but I got enough that I could think straight. I knew before I’d even sat up what I needed to do to set things right. I’d need to get to the Redtail straight away.

As I was sitting up, I got scared I that Sonja’d be there and I’d have to talk to her, but then I remembered she was taking the week off to be all mushy with Rosch and plan the wedding and things. And it was after hours, there was only one attendant there, a bored young man with brown hair and ears that stuck out. He didn’t look any less bored when he saw I was up. He came over and stuck a glass stick in my mouth to see if I had a fever. He didn’t say whether I did, but he did make me eat cold soup and then told me to go back to sleep.

I pretended to. It was easy to wait until he’d left the room for a bit and slip out.

There were a fair number of people around still, so I went down to the lockers where I kept a change of clothes and some other things. I brushed out my hair and tidied myself up a bit.

I’d been expecting to have to dodge Marc again, maybe, but I made it out of the castle without that happening. I figured I was in the clear. I _really_ wasn’t expecting to run into Rosch.

He was out in the front of the main yard, the one in front of the castle with the flowerbeds. He shaded his eyes with his normal hand as he looked up at the still-bright sky, back to the castle, so I thought maybe I could sneak by, but he turned slightly when I was about even with him.

He cleared his throat. “I heard you were in the infirmary.”

I shrugged and shoved my hands in my pockets. “Just a little bit of a cold. Marc’s a worrywart. I went and had a lie-down for a bit to get him to stop nagging.”

“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sonja stopped in to check on you.”

“That was nice of her, but I’m fine, really.” I hurried to change the subject. “You two have a nice day planning the wedding?” Stupid, _stupid_ me, why did I say that? Of course they didn’t have a nice day.

He grunted, and shrugged, and didn’t say anything. I eyed him sideways, trying not to be too obvious, as I looked at his face and tried to decide how torn up he was. I mean, yeah, of course he and Stocke were war buddies and best friends, but sometimes I think maybe there was more that went on at some point.

But you can’t really tell if someone’s just missing a friend or an old flame just by looking at them standing around awkwardly. Rosch scratched the back of his neck again. “Well. So. Er.”

“Um, mind if I head out?” I asked, and jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “I was gonna go home. I’ll get the report done in time, I promise, so...”

He lifted a hand in farewell. “Take care.”

I had walked a few steps when he suddenly said, “Wait.”

I looked back. “Yeah?”

“Raynie. Just… hang in there, all right? I know it’s hard, and…” he rubbed the back of his neck a third time. “We all know that he’d come back to you, before any of the rest of us.”

For a moment I wished he’d just punched me instead.

I turned my mouth up in a smile said thanks or something, and walked until I was pretty sure he couldn’t see me, and then ran, ran down the street.

Pounding my feet on pavement felt good, as did running until my breath started to get ragged. All my other feelings fell away, and I could focus on fitting the words in my head to the rhythm of my feet. _Gonna fix it, gonna fix it, for Rosch for Sonj’ for Marc._

It took surprisingly little time to get short of breath -- I guessed I really was coming down with something. I slowed to a jog, then a walk, and tried to get my breathing under control and my coughing stopped.

 

* * *

 

Marco was waiting outside of the Redtail when I got there, in my usual spot. He folded his arms at me as I came up the steps. I thumbed my nose at him.

“You’re feeling better,” he observed as I came up beside him. “Although Hwan was supposed to keep you in the infirmary overnight. Did you at least get something to eat?”

“Hello to you too, Marco,” I told him. “Was Hwan the bored guy? He gave me soup. It was _cold_ ,” I added with mild indignance, and also to prove I’d eaten it.

“You slept past dinner, then.” Marc drummed his fingers on his arm, and tilted his head, thinking. “Did you have anything else to eat today?”

“Uhh… yeah? I mean, yeah, I did.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “That means you just had the soup. What am going to do with you…” He sighed, like he had some right to be annoyed just because I skipped breakfast _once_. “All right. Let’s get you something more substantial than cold soup.” He turned to go.

“I’m staying right here, thanks,” I told him.

“We’re just going to get some solid food in you, we’ll come back after,” he replied soothingly.

I was not soothed. I did not want to be soothed. I grabbed hold of the railing. “I’m staying.”

“We’ll tell the bouncer to look for him, then, and make sure he stays until we’re back. We won’t miss him.” He started to tug on my arm.

I tightened my grip on the railing. “No. He might get lost.”

“What?” Marco blinked at me, then shook his head, releasing his grip. “That _still_ doesn’t… why would _you_ still need to stay when we’ve got Carlie watching for him?”

 _To show that he can trust me again._ “Just, you know. Reasons.”

“Fine. I’ll go get us _both_ something to eat.” He stumped off, muttering to himself and shaking his head, like I was being unreasonable.

When he was gone, I looked out across the city, although I knew better than to look for spots of red this time. If I was being tested, I wouldn’t be seeing him for some time.

That was okay. I could wait. I squared my shoulders and settled my weight more evenly on my feet, since I’d be there for a while. I would wait. If I waited out here long enough, I’d prove I was still loyal, prove I was _sorry_.

And then Stocke’d come back.

 


	8. Downward Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse.

Marc came back fairly quick with some meat-stuffed buns from a street vendor. The hot food was nice, and for a while we just stood around talking about the best street food we’ve had. Cygnus has the most of it, because, hey, _Cygnus_. It’s like a mixing bowl of everywhere on the continent except Forgia and Celestia. But Alistel’s got some good vendors if you know where to look -- like the guy who did the buns. And even though Granorg was having a food shortage all the times we visited, there had been a really good hole-in-the-wall sort of bakery that had some really amazing pastries with hot fruit jelly inside.

“That doesn’t count as street food,” he insisted. “They had a permanent location.”

“It totally counts, it was _that good_. And we ate them while walking. I remember ‘cause I bit into one just when, when Stocke pointed out our contact, and I was so startled I burned the roof of my mouth.” I managed to say his name without faltering too bad.

Marc got a little bit of a worried look on his face, and paused for a bit. Then he shook his head and went on more normally. “Well, if we’re counting that, then I should have been able to count the place in Skalla with the cornmeal dumplings.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then changed my mind. “Wait, which ones, the ones that were just baked lumps, or the steamed ones wrapped in leaves? ‘Cause I just thought you meant the lumps. Those steamed ones totally count.”

We chatted on about food and other things until the sun went down. My throat got dry from all the talking and I started to cough a bit more.

Finally, Marco said, “All right, that’s it. Off to bed with you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” I said for what was probably the tenth time that night. Unfortunately, my voice came out half a croak. “Okay, okay, I’ll go home and get some shuteye.” I figured I could go halfway, then double around and come back. I couldn’t manage another all-nighter, but I was still good for at least another hour or two. I pushed off away from the railing I’d been leaning on. “Good night. See you at work tomorrow.”

Marco, the stinker, eyeballed me. Then he shook his head. “You’re sleeping in the infirmary tonight.”

And so I found myself marched down to the infirmary for a second time that day, with Marco’s grip on my arm like a vice.

At least I got some entertainment when he reamed out the infirmary attendant -- Hwan? -- for letting me get out before, even if I didn’t exactly like being called a “flight risk”. Was I supposed to be a patient or an inmate?

“Consider yourself under house arrest as long as you’re sick,” Marco told me. “I’m serious.”

“I’ll be good,” I said, trying to sound really convincing. Maybe I could sneak out in the early hours, after the shift changed...

“I’ll leave a note so that Holly knows, when she takes over at midnight,” Marco said, and that squashed _those_ plans.

He actually waited until I got my boots off and got under the sheets of one of the cots. I flipped him off as he left the room.

“Go to sleep,” Hwan told me in a bored tone. I lay down, meaning to at least get some planning in, but maybe Marc or Hwan used magic on me, because I fell asleep before I’d decided how to sneak out.

* * *

I slept until the morning bell for the barracks. The attendant this time was the Holly lady that Marco had left a note for, short and pretty and utterly merciless.  She watched me like a hawk, guarded the privy door when I went to take a piss, and even followed me down to the lockers to get my change of clothes. I had to eat breakfast in the infirmary, too, which meant the porridge was mushier than what they serve at the mess or I make myself, but I also got fruit. She stared at me the whole time, like she didn’t think I’d eat it all.

Honestly, she was as bad as Marco. Someone needs to set them up so they drive each other crazy instead of hassling me.

At least she let me get dressed behind a screen. I’d been a bit worried she’d watch that, too, to make sure I didn’t hide any ropes or escape gear or whatever in my clothes. I’m a soldier, I’m used to changing around everyone and vice versa, but the way you deal is to just turn your head, and trust everyone else to do the same. Being stared at would be a bit creepy, so I was glad of the privacy.

Between all the delays from her and sleeping so late to start with, there was no way for me to get out to the Redtail before I had to show for work.

Of course when I got to the office, Marco interrogated me about how I’d spent the night.

“Go bugger a cactus,” I told him, thumping my bum down in a chair. “Or get me tea. The prison warden wouldn’t let me have any.”

“Pris- oh. Holly.” Marco paused, looking annoyed and like he wanted to say something about that, but then he changed the topic. “Your bunch has the first courtyard starting at noon. I’ll bring you tea, but you’d better be here when I get back.”

I was, too, plugging away at my report. I wrote fast and didn’t care that it was messy.  Marco had already gone and marked up what I had from yesterday with what words I had spelled wrong, so I’d have to copy it all over again later anyway.

I got the whole thing down, the first draft anyway, about an hour before drill. I left the papers with Marco, promised I’d eat lunch, yes, really, I just forgot to eat yesterday ‘cause I was tired, sheesh, I’m not starving myself, and ran out to the city.

To prove my point, I got a meat pie from the first vendor I came across, and took up my post in front of the Redtail. I ate the pie. Stocke didn’t come. I stayed as long as I could without being late for drill, then hightailed it back to the castle.

* * *

I came back after work. I did slip inside the tavern to get dinner. Once again, Marc showed up and dragged me back to the infirmary. The next morning I’d shaken my cough, and Holly told Marco he wasn’t allowed to keep me there anymore. I was gloating all the way out of the castle that evening, until I realized that I’d have to go home.

I stayed outside the Redtail until Marco came and walked me home. I waited twenty minutes until I was pretty sure he’d left, and went back and stayed until closing time. Back home, try real hard not to think about the two plates set in the kitchen, collapse into bed. Up an hour after dawn, stand outside another hour, go to work.

Things went on like this for the next few days.  There was no way in five hells I was setting foot in my kitchen, let alone cooking in it, so I got my meals from the mess when the timing worked out and lines were short, street vendors when it didn’t.

Some nights Marco himself came for me, and threatened me with sleep spells so I wasn’t able to get out again. I’d get up before dawn, those days, to make up for it. Other nights he sent Kiel. The first night Kiel was easy to trick, so easy that I almost felt bad doing it -- I just said I was going home and he believed me. I guess he figured it out, though, because the next time I had to actually walk most of the way there before he stopped tailing me.

During the day, when I had to be at the castle, I did whatever I could to be busy. I rewrote my report twice over, the second time so neat even Marco couldn’t complain. I lead the daily drill, did my own practice (but not too much -- I needed to conserve energy for my nightly watch). When the report was in and I was done with the kids in my squad, I cleaned my gear, and then went to the armory and cleaned other people’s gear, and honed weapons, or went and swept the practice courts. And afterward I’d look at what I’d done, proud and a little surprised at how much I could get done when I really tried, and thinking _maybe I’m a little bit closer to someone worth coming back to_. And when I went home weary and lonely to my awful empty apartment at night, at least I knew I’d logged in a few more hours vigil, a little bit more green to balance the red after my name in the gods’ accounting books.

By the end of the week I was having to drink a lot more tea to stay alert, on watch at the Redtail and just during the day. I snuck some anti-sleeps, but only when I really needed ‘em.

I didn’t bring any books when I did my waiting -- it didn’t seem properly apologetic? I figured it was okay to talk to people, though, because it kept me awake and alert. That’s always the trouble with long watches -- you can fall into kind of a trance, or doze off with your eyes open.

I talked a lot with Carlie, the one bouncer who I already knew well, and who knew I was waiting for Stocke. She’s taller than me, which is rare, and pretty strong, but there’s only one of her. So I helped her keep out a small crowd of already-drunk customers one night. That was kinda fun, scaring away drunks with just a tiny light spell.

Every two nights it was Bennis instead. He was talkier than I liked, sometimes, but he was friendly. It was like the complete opposite of how he’d been when we first met. And he seemed honestly sympathetic that my “friend” never showed up.

And it was actually Carlie who gave me trouble, at the end of the week.

“I think maybe you need to stop coming here so often,” she said when there was a lull in the incoming traffic. “Or at least go inside and have some fun.”

I flapped a hand. “Nah, I’m fine! Besides, I’m having a fine time just standing around chatting with friends.” I gave her a friendly chuck on the shoulder. “It’s easier on my wallet, too. Plus, hey, free entertainment when I watch you break up the brawls!”

“Hah.” She exhaled. “You know that’s not what I meant. It’s not good for you, all this standing around waiting for him. Your friend Marco’s worried about you too. And the little pup of a soldier.”

“Kiel’s only coming ‘cause Marco’s a worrywart.” Could we _please_ talk about something else? Kiel was even coming up the steps, like she’d summoned him by mentioning him. Damnit.

She went on, oblivious. “It’s not like you. Once in a while, yes, I understand, but-”

“No you don’t.” The words slipped out, a bit angrier than I meant to be, but I hate being told I’m not like me. Who the hell am I being like, then? “I got my reasons for this.”

“Do you? Because-”

I turned away from her, towards my approaching puppy. “Kiel! Perfect timing. C’mon, lemme buy you a drink.” I hauled Kiel into the bar by his arm, ignoring his protests. I swear I felt Carlie’s eyes on my back.

I slammed my coins down so hard on the bar that they bounced. “Two brandies,” I snapped when the barkeep came to collect them. He eyeballed me but didn’t comment on my mood, just brought me my drink and my change. I knew I was taking my bad mood out on him, but wasn’t feeling up to apologizing, so I left a few extra coins as a tip.

I took a long drink of my brandy. I was still pretty pissed off, so the burn as it went down was welcome. I managed a smile at Kiel and pushed the second glass towards him. “On me,” I said. I owed him for all the times I’d tricked him that week.

“Er… thank you.” Kiel took the glass nervously and stared down into it like it might start bubbling or something.

I waved a hand at him. “It’s brandy, not poison. It’ll put some hair on your chest.” I took another sip of my own drink.

While he continued to stare doubtfully at his drink, I added, “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you some questions about the man who helped you all.”

Kiel brightened at that and set down his glass. “Oh, yes, I’d be happy to help. What did you want to know?”

I exhaled. Finally. A chance to find out what I was missing. “Wellll…. tell me how he looked? Since you don’t remember his name.”

“Well, he was dressed all in red. He was used to living off the land, so-”

Well, I already knew _that_. Impatient, I hurried to cut him off. “When you say dressed in red, was it, like, a robe, or a jacket?”

Kiel shifted nervously on the stool, and lifted his drink almost to his lips, then set it down again. “A cape and a jacket. He dressed all in red. He was used to liv-” he shook his head. “A red scarf. Lots of buckles.”

 _Yes!_ If I hadn’t already been certain it was Stocke, I would be now. “Trousers?”

“Black. I think,” he rushed to add.

I thought I recognized the mood and grinned. “Tight ones too, I expect?” I waggled my eyebrows.

Kiel stared at me, going pink. Then he took took a drink of his brandy. His eyes went wide just a fraction of a second before he started choking and spluttering. He spilled his drink all over the bar, and some on him. I gave him a couple good thumps on the back when he couldn’t stop coughing.

“It _burns_ ,” he said, horrified, when he could breathe again. “And you _like_ drinking this?”

“That tells you it’s working,” I told him cheerfully. It was nice to get to play Big Sister Raynie again. “Bit of a shock, first time yeah? You get used to it. Try another go.” I remembered he’d spilled his drink and offered him mine.

He waved his arms frantically. “No, thank you, I’m fine! I’ll just… have… uh, could I get a glass of water?”

I blinked. What, did he want to get the runs? Then I remembered -- oh, right, Alistel. Probably the  only place in the entire continent, besides Celestia, where you can drink the water without boiling it first. “Sure. Barkeep!”

We got Kiel his water. I let him drink a bit, recover his composure after the brandy -- hah, I’m never going to forget that bug-eyed look in his face, too bad Marc missed it. I leaned back against the bar and took a few sips of my own drink, enjoying the warmth of the brandy going down into my belly. “Sooo, back to your Mysterious Rescuer. Did he, well, talk about anyone? Mention any names of family, friends?”

Kiel shook his head. “He didn’t speak much about himself. He talked more about how we could feed ourselves -- hunting, fishing, cooking over a fire. He was used to living off the land. He patched up our wounds-”

What was it with the boy? Say the wrong thing and he’d go off reciting the same story like a schoolboy. “Yeah, you mentioned. Did he have, y’know, a sweetheart or anything? Or an ex?”

“I.. I have no idea! That’s not the kind of thing you, you just ask people!” Kiel stuttered.

I tried not to be disappointed. I hadn’t expected Stocke would mention me, especially after I’d blown everything at our goodbye.  But it would’ve been nice to know if he ever thought of me. What he thought of me. I’d kind of hoped he’d have sent a message through Kiel, some clue of what I could do to make up for everything.

Kiel was looking unhappy, too, so I switched back to something safer -- the Handsome Mysterious Rescuer’s appearance. “How tall was he? What color was his hair?”

“He was taller than you, but not by much,” Kiel said after some thought. “He had blond hair.”

“Was it cut short? Long? Pulled back?” Yeah, I know, I _know_ it was Stocke, but it didn’t hurt to be sure. Besides, talking about Stocke was one of my and Kiel’s favorite pastimes, back in the Rosch Brigade, and I'd missed it more than I'd realized.

Kiel sipped his water. “Shorter than the general’s, but longer than mine.”

“Did it tend to, y’know, fall in his face? Over his eyes?” I brushed my hand down over my own forehead.

Kiel nodded. He was looking nervous again, and going a little pink around the edges.

“Made you want to brush it out of his eyes, didn’t it,” I asked, grinning knowingly.

Instead of blushing adorably, his face just… shut down. “Captain Raynie. Ma’am. I really think… this… this conversation is not... I promised Captain Marco that I’d see that you went home safe and sober tonight.” He pointed at the nearly-empty glass in my hand.

“Kiel, it’s one drink,” I told him, exasperated and a bit hurt. What was all this about? “I’m not gonna get drunk on just one measure of brandy. But-” I held up a hand so he wouldn’t argue. “All right, I’m sorry, I’ll go home. I just, y’know… wanted to hear more about him. I’m curious. That’s all.”

Kiel was quiet as we left the bar. I waved goodbye to Carlie as we walked out to show there were no hard feelings.

We were a few streets away when Kiel spoke up. “You think he’s someone you know, don’t you. The man who saved us.”

What, was I gonna lie to the kid? “Yeah.” I breathed out slowly. “I do. His name’s Stocke. He went missing during the war.”

“You mean General Rosch’s friend?” Kiel perked up at that, like his old puppy self, although his voice was a little too thin. “I always wanted to meet him! Everyone said he was an amazing swordsman.”

“He is.” I swallowed. “Best one I’ve ever met.”

“Better even than the Valkyrie?” Kiel sounded doubtful where once he'd have been torn with indecision.

Stocke, I’m _sorry_ , please come home. “I saw them figh-- spar, once. They were both amazing.” And terrifying. I’d had to watch them both real close, so I could make sure my spells hit Viola only when they were apart. “Moved like -- like water.” I swallowed, then rubbed my temples as I tried to shake the memory.

“I hope I can see it myself someday!” Kiel said, determinedly enthusiastic. “So.. so I hope he turns up!”

Me too, kid. We were at my door.  I made myself smile, thanked Kiel for seeing me home, and went inside.

My home was quiet and empty and awful.

Five minutes later I’d changed my clothes and was back out my door, taking another route so I wouldn’t pass Kiel on the way back to Alistel castle. I spent the night in the officer’s common room, sleeping at a desk. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but at least so if someone found me in the morning I could pretend I’d just gotten there early and dozed off.

* * *

I had a stiff neck and a bad mood all morning. Claudy broke his spear again and I reamed him out, more than he really deserved. He was nearly in tears before I realized I was taking my mood out on him. Feeling twice as bad for acting like such a snakebelly of a bully, I dismissed them all early, and went to the armory to sharpen swords instead. The quartermaster kicked me out after an hour, saying I was being too rough. I went all around the castle, trying to find something to do. I’d have even settled for mopping the halls.  It was a relief to be able to leave for the day and return to my post outside the Redtail. At least that way I was doing something productive.

Bennis was bouncing that day, I saw as I jogged up the steps just below my usual waiting spot. I made my hellos and then retreated to the railing, away from him, so I wouldn’t have to talk. Just in case Carlie or Marco had been talking to him, too.

I watched the city restlessly, feeling like a too-short string on a longbow. Lots of people passed below my perch, their talk rising clear to my ears. Whenever someone mentioned going home, I thought of a table with two plates, imagining one getting used and washed and replaced every day while the other just gathered dust. The corners of my eyes got hot and prickly, and I’d have to bite the inside of my cheek until I calmed down.

It got better as the night wore on. The tavern behind me got noisy, so even when people walked by I didn’t hear words so much as a mush of sounds, especially once people got more beer in them.

Since the Redtail’s on a higher level than the central street, I could see Kiel coming from the castle before he got to me. I turned to Bennis. “I’m going in to grab something to eat. If a blond man in red comes by while I’m in there… let him know where I am?”

He smiled understandingly.  “Of course I will.”

To my surprise, I got my pottage and bread without interruption from Kiel. I took my time, reasoning that once he found me, he wouldn’t make me leave until I’d finished eating. Eventually, though, I finished, and I was feeling battered by the noise and crowd and heat, so I went back outside.

“Women always fall for jerks,” I heard Bennis complaining to Kiel as I crossed into the relative coolness of the evening. “They don’t want nice guys who will treat them properly.”

“I, uh, um-” Kiel said, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. Then he saw me, and his face shone with relief. “Um. How about asking Raynie?”

“What’s all this about?” I asked, since I hadn’t heard the full story.

“So there’s this girl I know. Her boyfriend’s terrible to her. Keeps breaking his promises, stands her up on dates all the time, probably sleeping with another woman behind her back.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” I said sourly. “Yeah, she should kick his sorry ass to the curb.”

He looked at me and folded his arms. “So why don’t you?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Why don’t you get rid of that guy you’re always waiting for? It’s not right, the way he treats you.”

I went cold. “You… you’ve seen him? Blond hair, dresses all in red, wears a sword? Here?” I don’t know if I was shaking, but my hands felt clammy, my tongue clumsy.  Had all my waiting worked, only for me to miss Stocke after all? Had he come maybe when I was at work, or one of the nights I left early, or even when I left my post to take a piss?

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or disappointed or just wanted to punch Bennis for getting my hopes up.

“But that’s the trouble,” Bennis went on. “You’re always waiting for him -- every day for the past week you’ve been here, and he _never comes_. You deserve a guy who’s going to keep his promises.”

“He’s never broken his promises,” I snarled. I felt shaky all over. “You don’t - just… you don’t know him, okay? I believe in him, I trust him, he’d never-” _decide he wants someone pretty and rich and cultured, pick a beautiful noblewoman over a scrawny commoner ex-merc, find someone who’s not going to ask him to give up the only life he’s ever known to live a humdrum sort of existence… find someone who_ remembers _her promises_. I clenched my fists and tried to control my breathing. I wasn’t going to cry, Stocke wasn’t wrong, Stocke would still give me a chance...

“Then why’s he never here?” Bennis interrupted, his eyes narrowed.

“Because he’s… he’s…” I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t say it. The possibility that I was wrong, or worse, Kiel was wrong, that despite all my hope and waiting Stocke was gone, _gone_ …

Bennis shook his head. “I wouldn’t treat you so badly, you know. If you were my girl, I’d-”

It was like a bubble popped, my fear and grief evaporating into fury like a puddle in a firestorm.

“One more word out of you and you’ll be eating lightning,” I snarled. “You poxy lizard-fucking, canker-licking little turd. You know _nothing_ about him.  You know nothing about _me_.” Lightning crackled up along my arm, the ball of energy growing in my shaking hand. “I thought you wanted to be friends, but you didn’t even give a crap about me, did you? You just wanted to seem _nice_ because apparently lying to girls is the only way you could think of to get your sorry ass laid. Well, you can go shag yourself, you mewling puddle of piss, you gutter-guzzling worm-”

Bennis stepped back, eyes wide. Then the narrowed, his whole face screwing into a sneer. “I know that you’re just like the rest, then. Defend your piece-of-shit boyfriend while he sleeps around behind your back just because he says he lo-”

“I’m going to fucking _kill you_ ,” I roared, lunging forward and swinging my fistful of lightning spell at his face.

Someone slammed into me from the side, arms wrapping around my waist. I wound up staggering sideways, missing Bennis by a mile. The spell flew from my hands, discharging into the cobblestones of the street with a loud crack and a spray of pebbles. I fought for my footing against the unbalancing weight of the person hanging around my waist.

“Get ahold of yourself, Raynie,” my assailant shouted from chest-height. It took me a split second to realize it was Marco. I stopped struggling right away, although I was still breathing heavy.

He let me go, then turned to Bennis. The rat’s bum of a bouncer had fallen on his bum, and was wide-eyed and white-faced.

“Raynie’s boyfriend is a better man than you’ll ever be,” Marco told him with scorching contempt. “He’s not here because he’s MIA, you ass. And just because I’ve stopped her from breaking your face twice doesn’t mean I’m on your side. Expect transfer papers someday soon.”

Then he turned to me, and took me by the arm. “Raynie, let’s go.”

I sometimes get the shakes after a fight. It’s not fear, more like there’s extra energy in my body left from getting pumped up for combat, and it doesn’t have anywhere to go. I was like that now. I let Marco walk me away from the tavern, away from Bennis sprawled on the ground, away from the crowd of watchers, Kiel among them, clustering at the door.

I panicked, though, when I realized a few streets later where he was taking me. “No!” I tried to tug out of his grip. “I don’t want to go home.”

Marco hung on grimly. “Raynie, be reasonable! You can’t go back to the Redtail tonight.”

“I don’t care, I just… I’m not goin’ _home_.” I started trying to pry his fingers loose from my arm. It was hard, my hands shook so bad. “Let go, let go, don’t make me, I can’t…”

“Raynie?” Marco turned me, making me face him, then gripped my other arm. “Raynie, you’re not making sense. Calm down.” He spoke slow and gentle, like I was a scared horse. I guess I was. “Now take a deep breath and get ahold of yourself.”

 

I took a gulp of air, let it out shakily. “Calm. Calm. Okay.” I breathed in and out a few more times.

I could see his eyes, glinting green in the streetlights, as he watched my face.  “Okay. That’s better. Now please, tell me, why can’t you home?”

“Because he’s not there.” I choked on the words, my jaw starting to tremble. “‘Cause he’s, he’s, he’s never gonna be there. An’ it’s my fault. ”

Then I slumped to my knees in the middle of the street and sobbed on Marco’s shoulder, not caring who saw.


	9. Head Above Water

Somehow we made it back to the castle. I was too busy sniveling and sniffling and wiping my runny nose on my sleeve to really notice where we were going until we were right outside Marco’s room in the wing with the officer’s quarters. 

Marco sat me down on the bed, tucked a blanket around me even though it was summer, and dumped a pile of handkerchiefs in my lap. I picked up one and blew a bit, making a bit of a honking sound, but I could breathe easier after.

“I’m going to get us both tea,” Marco told me, tucking the blanket around me more securely. “Promise me you’re not going anywhere.”

I nodded miserably. There wasn’t anywhere I really wanted to be, so long as it wasn’t my horrible empty apartment with the plates on the table. I blew my nose on one of the heap of handkerchiefs, then set it back down on top of the pile. 

Marco made a disgusted sound and lifted the soiled handkerchief from the top of the pile with just his thumb and forefinger. He scooped the rest off my lap and dropped the dirty one back on me. “Promise?” he pressed.

“Yeah. Promise.” My voice startled me with how rough it was. “I’ll stay.” 

The door closed behind him, and I was left alone with my thoughts. They weren’t happy ones.

What if Stocke _had_ found someone else? It wouldn’t be cheating, not from his view, and it’s not like he’d have a hard time finding someone else interested. I swear half the women in Alistel and more than a few guys would’ve leapt at the chance to bang him, and that was before anyone knew he was a _prince_. And Granorg was full of rich nobles. He’d have his pick, really. 

Now that I was thinking about it, it was hard to stop, even though it was like ice in my chest. I could see it, all too easily. A woman or a man, I wasn’t sure, but the hazy, faceless image in my mind wore fancy clothes, and was pretty and plump and blond. I could imagine them sitting with Stocke in a fancy house on a fancy couch, reading books by a cozy fire, heads bent together... 

I bit my fist to keep from crying again. I didn’t have the _right_ , Stocke deserved happiness, and I’d never get him back, never, _never._..

By the time Marco was back, I’d long since flopped on my side and curled up in a ball of misery and handkerchiefs.

“Sit up, I’ve brought you tea,” he said coaxingly. I dragged myself up to sitting and took the steaming mug from his hands. I stared at it without drinking while Marco puttered around his room, straightening or whatever.

I looked at him when the mattress sagged as he sat down beside me. He’d taken off his helmet.

Everyone’s got something they’re kinda private about -- I had a tentmate in Dydo’s company who didn’t like to change clothes around other people, Aht made us plug our ears and hum if she needed to pee, even in the bushes. I don’t like to flash my goodies to someone I want to bang but haven’t yet. And Marc doesn’t like to take his helmet off around people. I think the last time I saw him with it off was back when we had a burning for Mimel, when we first came back to Alistel after the war.

He didn’t look so much shorter without it, since he was sitting beside me and it’s mostly his legs that aren’t so long. But he looked different. Softer, with just messy yellow hair instead of the roof of metal over his head.

“You need a haircut,” I told him. It came out flat, so I smiled weakly to show it was a joke.

He returned the smile and shook his head. “Drink your tea.”

I did. It was some kind of herbal stuff, instead of the strong black tea from the mess. Chamomile, I think? It wasn’t bad, and it loosened the tight feeling in my chest and the hunch in my shoulders.

Marco watched me for a while without speaking, sipping from his own mug. “So, about Bennis,” he began, just when I was thinking maybe all we were going to do was sit on his bed and drink tea. “I’m washing my hands of him. I’ll speak to Rosch tomorrow to get him transferred to another’s command.”

I grunted. Any calm the tea had brought me vanished. I didn’t really care what Marco did, I just knew that if the turd said anything else about Stocke where I could hear, I’d fry him. 

My friend waited a long moment, I guess for me to talk, before continuing. “In terms of military discipline, there’s nothing I can do. He wasn’t in uniform and he never took a swing at you.” Then he cleared his throat.

I looked down at my own, somewhat wrinkled, uniform. “Oops.”

“ _Oops_ is right,” Marco told me sternly. “This is Alistel, not Dydo’s company. No brawling in uniform.”

“Well, I didn’t _lose_.” My voice was scratchy, so I had to clear my throat. “And I didn’t actually lay a finger on him. You stopped me.” Y’know, I was pretty pissed about that. “Why did you stop me? That piece of -”

“I stopped you,” Marco interrupted, “because you can’t go around assaulting people just because they’re-”

“Didn’t you hear what he _said?”_ I demanded. “The fucker said-”

“Yes, Kiel brought me out in time to catch the end of it. I heard-”

“He said S-stocke-”

_“Raynie_!” 

I shut up, my eyes stinging and temper burning.

“Don’t waste your time even _thinking_ about what Bennis was saying,” Marco said flatly. “Anyone who knows Stocke knows he had no idea what he was talking about. You ought to have laughed in his face.” 

“Wanted to rearrange his face instead,” I muttered.

Marc coughed. “That may be the case. But Bennis was the bouncer. You do realize you’re going to be PNG at the Redtail for at least a few days? Maybe longer. Depends on how much the owner liked Bennis.”

I looked at my friend in disbelief. Banned from the Redtail? “But how am I gonna wait for Stocke there if I can’t be there?” My voice cracked.

“It might be just a few days-”

“I can’t miss a few days! What if Stocke comes, or…” My hands holding my mug were starting to shake again. I’d only been doing it properly for a week, I couldn’t lose any days, I’d have to start all over again for it to count.

“You know, Raynie, I didn’t like to mention this before... but you _do_ realize you don’t need to wait for Stocke at the Redtail? He could find you -- find any of us -- easily enough. He was the top agent back in our Specint days. Finding out your address would be child’s play for him.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m not _stupid_.” Oh, hell, how come I’d never seen that before? Not that it helped with my real problem.

But Marco wasn’t done talking, or making me curl in on myself in embarrassment. “He knows the layout of Alistel castle, he can turn invisible... We all have regular enough schedules that it would be easy to find us during the day. He won’t get lost, Raynie.”

“‘s not why I’m doing it,” I muttered. 

“You know, Raynie….” Marco said thoughtfully. “No one stands watch all by themselves. You just take a shift. If it’s that important to you, Rosch and I could-”

“That won’t _work!_ ” If it wasn’t _me_ , there wasn’t any point to it, if was my fault, my fault…

“Why not?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and blinked until my eyes stopped stinging. “Cause. I got reasons. That’s all.”

My friend sighed. “Raynie. When it was just once or twice a week, it was one thing. You still took care of yourself, you were happy most of the time, so I told Sonja that if you wanted to spend a few hours a week standing outside a bar, that was your choice.” I felt the mattress creak under me as he leaned away, setting his tea down on the bedside table. When he straightened, he put a hand on my shoulder and gently turned me so I was facing him. He looked me in the eye. “But since Kiel and the others returned last week… what you’ve been doing to yourself isn’t _healthy_ , Raynie. It needs to stop.”

“But how else am I gonna-” I shut my mouth and looked away. It had been hard enough to admit to myself that I’d screwed up.

“Going to what?” When I said nothing, Marco went on speaking, gentle and firm. “Whatever it is, Raynie, I don’t think Stocke would want you running yourself into the ground on his account. Do you?”

He had me there. I shook my head. 

“Then why are you _doing_ it?” he asked me.

“To show I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice. “So maybe Stocke’ll know somehow and forgive me and come back.”

Marco put a hand on my forehead. I knew what he meant and knocked it away. “I’m not fever-babbling!”

“Then what could you possibly need Stocke to forgive you for?” he asked me quietly. 

“‘Cause I _forgot_ , Marc!” My voice cracked, and I could feel my chest start to heave again, although my eyes were still dry. “I for-forgot that me and, and, Stocke had our p-p-p-romise.” I tried to take a sip of tea, raising the mug to my mouth, but I just splashed my face and up my nose trying to drink while sobbing. Marco took the cup from me, then gently drew me down until I had my head on his shoulder. 

I went on talking around my sobs. “He was saying how he was leaving forever to be the-” I couldn’t say it, I couldn’t say _sacrifice_ , so I gave up. “I couldn’t _speak_ , Marc, I couldn’t find the right words, it was like when you freeze in a panic, but that hasn’t happened to me in a fight since forever. Then Aht and Rosch were talkin’ about waiting, so I joined in too, and I called him _friend_ , because I was thinkin’, what right did I have to call him anything else? Only later I remembered that we had a promise, so now he’s gotta think I didn’t love him, when I did, I _do,_ more’n anything.” It got to be too hard to talk and breathe at the same time, so I just hung on, arms around Marco’s neck and cried.

“Shhh…” My friend’s hand stroked my hair. “Shhh…”

Eventually I could breathe properly again. I sat back up, wiped my face and blew my nose on another one of the handkerchiefs. “So yeah. When he was going off to his _death_ maybe, I gave him the ‘let’s be friends’ line. _That’s_ what I’ve gotta make up for.”

Marco kept a hand on my shoulder. “And making yourself sick staying out all hours of the night is going to make it better?”

I was all dried up on tears, my face hot and burning, so instead of hurting more that just made me mad. “Well, I dunno how else to show Stocke I’m _sorry_!” I growled. “I have to do _something._ ”

“Do you…” He frowned, then shook himself and looked at me. “Although… how, exactly, was Stocke supposed to know about your… vigil thing? Watch you invisibly until you’d suffered enough? Because he’s not that kind of man.”

“Well, he--” I began, meaning to explain, then stopped because I couldn’t. I didn’t actually think Stocke was watching, just that if I waited for him long enough he’d somehow know and maybe give me another chance. “It made sense in my head until you said it in words,” I muttered finally. 

Marco squeezed my shoulder. “So you’ll give this up?”

I shook my head, less in denial than confusion. “I dunno what else to do.”

“Do you _have_ to do something?”

“ _Yes!_ ” 

He took a deep breath, then looked at me with serious eyes. “No. No, I don’t think you need to.”

“ _Marc_ -”

“Raynie. Listen to me. The time we said goodbye to Stocke, the time you’re worried about… this was at the Ceremonial Site, wasn’t it? Not the old Imperial ruins?” 

I blew my nose, thinking. “Uh, Granorg. I know ‘cause I had to carry Aht back up the stairs, and I didn’t remember about my promise with Stocke ‘til I set her down.”

Marco smiled, then, and chucked me gently on the chin. “You idiot. Of  course you wouldn’t have remembered. And Stocke wouldn’t have expected you to, either, I’m sure. You two had made your promise in the other timeline.”

“The _other_ timeline? You mean… you mean me and Stocke had our talk in Skalla and things in one timeline, and he went away at the end of the other?” I took in a deep, shaky breath. I wanted him to be right so bad, I couldn’t let myself believe it so easily. “You _sure_?” 

“I’m sure.” He paused, then went on softly, “I’m certain, because that was the timeline where Mimel died, turned into sand right in front of my eyes. I remember watching you after Stocke vanished, thinking we’d both lost someone without ever getting a chance to tell them...how much they meant to us.” His voice went a bit choked at the end there, then he went quiet. 

You know when you’re underwater holding your breath, and your lungs are burning, and then you finally get to the surface and can finally get a gulp of new air? You’re still wet and cold and your chest still hurts from holding your breath so long, and maybe you cough on some water, but you can breathe finally. I felt like that right then. I grabbed Marc in a hug and squeezed him tight. “Marc. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about Mimel, but _thank you_ ,” I said into his hair. 

  
He patted my back a few times. “I know,” he said thickly. “And you’re welcome.”


	10. Spilled Milk

I woke up a little disoriented. The light came from a different part of the room than I was expecting, and the mattress under me had its lumps in all the wrong places. I sat up, rubbing my eyes a bit, and saw I was still in Marc’s room, in the barracks. There was plenty of light from the large window on the opposite side of the room, although the glass gave it all a slightly greyish tinge, instead of the green you get from thaumlights.  My friend was over at the small desk along the opposite wall, next to the door. The bed creaked loudly as I shifted, and he turned in his chair to look at me.

“Feeling better?” he asked quietly, putting down a book behind him.

I put a hand to my chest. The ache that had me all torn up inside last night was gone. “Yeah. Thanks.” I looked down at the blankets bunching in my lap, then across the room to where Marco’s legs dangled from the chair. “Sorry to put you out of your bed for the night.”  

Marco shrugged. “You needed it more than I did. I had my bedroll. Besides, you’re my friend and a guest,” he added, which made me close my mouth on my protest. He knows me too well sometimes.

He glanced up at the wall, and I followed his gaze to a clock. “Looks to be half past two,” he commented.

I’d slept half the day? In a panic I shucked the blanket and swung myself off the bed. It creaked loudly under me.  “Shit, Marc, I was supposed to lead drill before lunch! Why didn’t you wake me?”

He was shaking his head. “That’s been taken care of. I had a talk with both Rosch and Major Irina. She’ll want to see you later, but that can wait.” He hesitated, clearly thinking something over. Then he shrugged and said. “Let’s get some food in you.”

“Great!” I stretched, making my shoulders loosen up a bit. Spending all day in bed makes a body stiff, no joke.

He turned back to his desk, opening a drawer to put his book away. I craned my neck, curious about what he was reading. I caught a flash of red on the cover, but that was all.

“And then we’re heading up to your place,” he said, closing the drawer firmly.

I could feel my calm crumple in on itself. “I _can’t_ ,” I whined. “I druther just stay here with you again. I can sleep on the floor, no worries.”

Marco turned to face me, arms folded and an eyebrow raised all disapprovingly, like I was being silly. It wasn’t fair how he could look down his nose at me from all the way down there, his legs dangling from the chair. “What’s wrong with your apartment?”

“It smells funny,” I invented, scrambling for an excuse. “Or I bet it will, because I didn’t take out my trash. And it’s too hot in the summer and it’s all depressing and _empty._ ” And if I went back, I’d see the plates I’d set out for me and Stocke.

“Leaving the trash there another day won’t improve the smell. And you need to face it eventually.”

“But I don’t wanna,” I grumbled, although I knew he was right, and let him wheedle me into cleaning myself up before we went off to the mess.

 

* * *

 

Since I’d missed lunch proper, all the mess hall had to offer was soup heated so long the potatoes had fallen to bits, and bread that had gone dry from sitting out. I didn’t really mind -- I’ve eaten worse things, and once I smelled food I was too hungry to care much anyway. Marc sat with me as I ate, although he didn’t have anything himself. This was a bit annoying, since it meant he kept watching me.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded after he frowned at me when I started to tear up the second piece of bread.

He kept frowning. “You should eat that, not play with it.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s dry. I’m putting it in my soup.” I stirred it roughly, then held up a spoonful of dripping bread for his inspection. “See? If you’re just going to fuss about how I eat...”

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not! I just don’t like dry bread.” I took a large spoonful, then said through my mouthful of soupy bread, “See? I’m eating it.”

Marco cringed. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to ea-”

“Just shut up and _eat,_ Raynie.” And with that Marco tugged his helmet down more snugly over his ears.

Just for that I made sure to chew with my mouth open.

 

* * *

 

My feet wanted to drag as we got closer to my apartment, but Marco just grabbed my wrist in an iron grip that forced me to keep up. He can walk fast when he wants to, even with his short legs.

He made me go up the stairs ahead of him, like he thought I’d bolt or something. I glared at him for using prisoner protocol on me -- I went through the same training for Specint, I knew what he was doing -- but he just glared back at me and poked me in the butt. “Get moving.”

He poked me again when I took longer fumbling with my key than he’d like, too, the jerk.

The door opened with a familiar grating squeak that probably made Marc wince, but I wasn’t looking at him. My eyes had got sucked into the dim room past the threshold.

I’d left the main window shuttered, so the afternoon sun spilling around the edges made sharp lines on the bare floorboards and the bedspread. The normally-bright sunset colors of my bedspread looked dusty in the dim light, the whitewashed walls dingy. It was empty and still, and seemed drearier than Marco’s tiny barracks room with its standard-issue furniture and drab sheets.

I took a breath and stepped into the room.

It was kind of anticlimactic. I wasn’t overcome by grief or guilt or anything, I was just standing inside my home, my eyes adjusting after the brightness of outside and feeling slightly silly for the big deal I’d made about not coming back here. Marco followed me in.

“Lights?” he asked, and I flicked the thaumlights on just before he found the switch himself. The result was the lights going on and then off again. I turned them back on while Marc looked confused.

“How did you… never mind.” He shook his head and shuffled past me, so I could close the door.  

I watched without speaking as Marco looked around my home, over the frantically-made bed and the bare floorboards. Then his head turned towards the kitchen, which I still hadn’t looked at yet. “Oh.” He was quiet for a long moment.

I scuffed my feet on the floorboards and looked down. “Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Raynie…” Marc hesitated. Finally, he said, quietly, “I thought he’d be back that day, too.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that, so I just shrugged and kept looking at the floor.

Eventually he said, in a slow, deliberate sort of way, “Maybe Sonja _was_ right, and you need to move on.”

I jerked my head up to stare. He might have as well slapped me. “ _What?_ ”

“Maybe you should move on and stop waiting for Stocke,” he said, spacing his words like he thought I was an idiot.

“What the hell, Marc?” I was bewildered, and angry, by my friend’s betrayal. “How can you say that? I thought you _understood_ \-- after last night, after everything with Mimel...”

He folded his arms and gave me the look we both use on idiot civilians. “What I understand is that you’ve been moping around after that man like a helpless idiot.”

I launched myself at him. “Take it back, you bastard,” I growled as my arms closed around him.

He grinned fiercely and abruptly dropped his weight. Already bent double, I had to let go or crash to the ground. Then I almost fell on my face anyway, when he darted around and gave me a shove from behind.

I staggered, catching myself against the wall. “You lying piece of lizardshit,” I snarled as I turned to face him again. ”Take it back!”

He stood a bit away from me, in the middle of the room, looking bored. “Why would I?” He fiddled with his cuffs.“It’s undeniable truth. You spend all your time waiting outside the Redtail for him like an abandoned dog-”

“Shut up, shut up, you little rat,” I snarled, pushing off the wall towards him, my hands balled in fists, right arm chambered for a punch.

He sidestepped me easily, dodged my next strike as well, and worse yet _wouldn’t shut up_. “You know he could find you himself if he ever wanted to.”

“I told you to _shut up_ ,” I shouted, still swinging. You’d think I’d have the advantage with my height and long legs, but everyone Marco’s ever fought has been taller than him. He fights dirty, and he’s _fast._  

He kept sidestepping my punches, making me turn myself dizzy if I wanted to keep him in front of me. It’s his favorite tactic in a barroom brawl, and I’m sure he knew it was working on me. “You skipped meals and sleep just so you could stand around feeling sorry for yourself-”

“Shut up!” I stepped forward and swung at him yet again, missing by a hair as he sidestepped. In a blink of an eye he swung around again behind me, and caught me with a blow to the back of my leg, just above the knee. My leg folded and I swore as I fell to one knee. I brought my elbow around as I went down, catching something meaty, and I heard Marco grunt.

“You’re going to take all that back,” I hissed as we both climbed to our feet, circling each other. Marco was breathing shallowly already, while I tried hard not to favor the knee that he’d kicked. It was aching a bit from when it’d struck the ground. “You lying sack of-”

“Lying? Hah, you’re the one who lied about what you were doing. You knew we’d stop you when we found out.” He rushed me mid-sentence, trying to catch me off-guard, but the rising pitch of his words gave him away. I managed to catch him as he tried to swing past, hooking an arm around his neck.

I held him up against me, his back to my chest and my left arm like a bar under his chin. “Thing was…” he gasped as he fought my grip, “You didn’t... hide your tracks... all that well-

“I told you to shut up!” I lifted him higher, making it harder for him to breath. At that height he couldn’t stomp my instep. Then he tried to bite me, so I took my free hand under his chin and pushed up.  

He sagged. I held him still, my arm muscles starting to burn. Just when I decided he’d surrendered, he elbowed me in the gut, hard. I dropped him as I doubled over, clamping my teeth hard to keep my lunch from coming up. Like I said, Marc fights dirty.

I can fight dirty too, though.

“You dirty rat,” I said when the nausea was under control. I was still a bit winded, wheezing a bit.  “Face me like a man, you little shit!”

“You could fool Rosch,” he continued, still trying to get behind me. “But not me. You didn’t even try to disguise yourself, so it was easy to ask regulars if they’d seen you. So much for your Specint training.”

“I remember my training just fine!” I snarled, keeping him in front of me. “I just didn’t need all of it! And if you think it’s been _easy_ for me-”

“Poor Raynie, it’s been so _hard_ for her since Stocke left, she just can’t cope without her _man_ ,” he taunted.

“I cope just _fine_ without a man,” I snarled, and took another swing at him. I missed, like I knew I would, and Marc slid up behind me and shoved me hard.

I caught my balance pretty quick, but let myself keep stumbling for another couple steps. When he came at me again, I was ready, stepping aside to trip him. I grabbed him as he fell, letting his momentum take us both to the ground.

I landed on top so he couldn’t roll out of my grip. “Take it back. Take it all back!”

Marco struggled. “Won’t,” he said, rather more than a bit muffled. “S’all true. Lovestruck, empty-headed-”

I bounced on him, just enough to make him lose his breath for talking. We were both a bit winded. “I am not.”

“Prove….it,” Marco said around wheezes.

I blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I said prove it.” He had his breath back, but he wasn’t struggling anymore. “Put away those plates.”

“But that’s like--” giving up on Stocke.

“You wouldn’t _come home_ because they were there,” he said.

He was right. How the hell did he manage to keep getting the upper hand when I had him pinned to the ground like that? I stared down at him.

He blinked placidly up at me, way calmer than anyone at my mercy had a right to be. “Punch me if you like, it won’t make what I’m saying any less true.”

He didn’t need to rub it in, the little jerk. For that I bounced once more, earning an audible “ooof”, then rolled off him and climbed to my feet.

“I’m not putting them away yet, but we can talk. Truce?” I extended my hand down to him. “I’ll punch you later if I need to.”

“That’s reassuring,” he grumbled, but let me help him up. He rubbed the small of his back and winced, and I saw the faint flair of healing magic. _That_ made me feel bad about knocking him around so much, more than punching him would’ve. It’s not that Marco’s an old man, but his back troubles him sometimes, more than most people our age. Well, more than most guys, I should say -- I'm busty enough that I've got my own problems.

To stop feeling guilty and to put off talking, I made us tea. As I clattered around my kitchen, Marc sat at my table, the plates shoved to the side but not put away. We didn’t say much, beyond when I had to ask if he was still a weirdo who puts milk in his tea.

He was, but the milk in my fridge was also a bit strange, so I dumped it down the sink, gritting my teeth against the waste. I hadn’t cooked anything since before… well, before Kiel and the rest came back.

Marco accepted his perfectly normal, sweet, milkless tea without grumbling, although he looked at me funny. “You looked like someone had insulted you when you dumped out that milk,” he observed. “So. The plates.”

I shrugged uncomfortably as I took my seat across from him, warming my hands on my mug. “The plates stay out. But.”

Marco raised his eyebrows at me. “But?”

I glanced back at the sink and sighed. “You’re right, I’ve gotta find another way to deal with all this. It’s no good if I’m letting food spoil in my fridge.”

Marco blinked at me. “You stayed out all night, skipped meals, worried yourself sick, nearly killed someone, and collapsed sobbing in the middle of the street, and it’s _the milk going bad_ that’s bothering you?”

I sipped my tea, but after so short a time was little more than vaguely-scented hot water at that point. I grimaced as it scalded my tongue, and set it down in front of me. “Yeah, if I’m wasting food it’s a problem.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, and eat your vegetables, too, there are kids starving in Cygnus who would be happy-” He caught my look and shut his mouth. He cast his eyes down, ashamed. “Sorry. I forgot.”

I grunted. It was bad enough I’d been crazy and mopey and soppy all week; I didn’t need Marc feeling sorry for me for how my life’s been on top of it. “Not a surprise you’ve got a _short_ memory,” I told him, and saw his wince. There, now he could stop being all apologetic, since we’d both been jerks.

But Marco wasn’t done feeling bad about it, because he kept talking. “Even with what happened to our mercenary company, I forget just how much you’ve been through.”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “So I had a rough childhood, boo-hoo. I’m hardly the only one. It’s just how life goes. You meet people, then you lose ‘em. You’ve just try to make the most of the time you got while they’re there. Whether you get ten years with ‘em, or three, or - well, however long you get.”  Damnit, my eyes were pricking. I looked at the table, my eyes falling on the plates I’d set out.

I picked one up, turning it over in my hands and studying the glazed pattern of leaves around the edge, blinking to keep my vision from blurring. Marc stayed quiet.

After a moment I had myself under control, and I looked up and smiled crookedly at him. “I know how it goes by now. I cry my eyes out for a few weeks, get drunk a few times, and then get on with life.”  I looked back down at the plate in my hands. “For some reason it’s not working so well now. Dunno what’s so different about Stocke than Ma and Da, or my gang in Cygnus, or everyone in Dydo’s company… And don’t say it’s because I’m a lovestruck idiot,” I added, my voice a little thick. “Or I’ll really punch you this time. ‘Cause that makes it sound like the rest didn’t matter so much.”

“Well, you _are one_ , but that’s not why,” Marco said, but there was no judgement in his voice.  “It’s because he might come back. You can’t get on with your life the way you have before because you have to keep the door open, and there’s no knowing when you can close it.”

“Door?” I asked, but even before he patted his hand over his heart I got what he meant. “Oh. Yeah.” Without realizing it I’d mirrored Marco’s gesture. “I… the whole not-knowing. When he’ll be back. If he’ll be back. And not being able to _do_ anything except, well, sit around and wait.”

“You really always have to be doing something, don’t you,” Marco mused. “Raynie the active.”

“Huh?”

“Remember the guy we fetched those scrolls for? It’s what he called you. I heard him talking to Stocke.”

“Oh, the guy who taught us stuff. Yeah. Huh.” That had been a surreal experience, all in all. We walked into one of the practice courts with Stocke, who was in one of his weird chatty moods, talking to everyone. Then it comes out this guy wanted us to help him find some scrolls. Stocke accused him of having pawned them, and then the guy admitted he had… anyway, Stocke asked us to wait there, and left the room. He came back the next minute with an armful of scrolls. At the time I thought Stocke had just already bought them from the pawn shop to mess with the guy, but it struck me as a weirder-than-usual thing for Stocke to do. “Huh. I guess that must’ve been some time travel thing, too.”

Marco nodded, but didn’t say anything, so I drank some of my tea. It was warm and stronger now, a little bitter, but not to the point where it makes your tongue feel dry. With warmth in my belly I felt a little better.

“It would be easier if you had closure,” Marco said eventually, setting down his mug. “It was… well, it was better after we found out that Mimel had died in the other timeline, too.”

“Uhh…” I stared at my friend. “You drank yourself stupid and passed out at the bar. It was so bad I was scared you’d poisoned yourself with it and I had to carry you to the infirmary, and you were sick all over my shirt. How can you call that _better_?”

Marco smiled crookedly at me. “I’m not saying it was _easy_. But it was like lancing a boil. It hurt like hell at the time, but afterwards… all the infection had drained away, and it could start to heal.” He stared into his tea mug some more, then added softly, “It still aches, sometimes, but it’s more like an old wound.”

Of course Marc would put it in terms of medical stuff. But I didn’t roll my eyes, because I was remembering how his face had looked by the flickering red light of the pyre when we’d had our memorial for Mimel, and how different it looked now. I nodded slowly.

He looked up, then, meeting my eyes. “So… if you need to, if you want to, you can say goodbye. I don’t think Stocke would be happy to know you were hurting because of him.  If he came back in ten years and you’d moved on, he’d understand. We’ll do a proper burning for him -- he wasn’t one of Dydo’s, but he was one of ours, so-”

“I haven’t got anything to burn for him.” My voice was so small it hardly came out.

He smiled reassuringly. “It doesn’t have to be flammable, you know that. A necklace, a knife…  a belt buckle?”

I just shook my head at each item he named off, and a few others.

Marco frowned thoughtfully, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “What about that nice spear he gave you?”

I looked blankly at him.

“Had a nice magic-channel in it, came with a name carved in the shaft… something _Bonheur_?”

I scratched my head. “D’you mean _Priere Bonheur_?” He nodded and I sighed. “That was a  halberd, not a spear, Marc!”, Marco is terrible at keeping the names of polearms straight. “But yeah, it was a nice one, all right. The amethyst and tigerbeard-tree wood set in the shaft made it right sweet for spellcasting.”

“Was?”

I shrugged. “Haven’t got it anymore. It broke in those ruins. One of those old thaumachines, I think.”

Marco looked baffled. “And you didn’t… save the pieces or anything?”

I was baffled right back at him. “Why would I? It’s not like I could fix it or anything.”

“But it was special! It was given to you by Stocke.” Dang, Marco seemed really invested in the halberd -- his voice was rising in pitch.

“Stocke gave _all_ of us weapons from time to time,” I reminded him. “Plus other gear. He’s the one who held the purse usually, remember? It’s not like _Priere Bonheur_ was a… a special gift or anything.”

Marco opened his mouth, then closed it, looking sulky. “That idiot,” I heard him mutter to himself. I waited, but he didn’t say anymore.

We finished our tea in silence. I had a lot to sort out. What to do about the plates, for one. What to do about _me_ , so I didn’t get all weepy and silly again. What to do about Marco and Sonja, ‘cause now I was sure they’d be on my case to give up on Stocke for my own good. But what about poor Stocke, if he came only to find I didn’t want him anymore? What if he showed up and I had found someone else? I’m willing to share, under the right circumstances, but Stocke might not be.

But what if he didn’t come back for years? Would I be waiting outside the Redtail for him until I was old and grey? Could I go that long without someone in my bed? What if I waited and waited, but when he came back I was old and ugly, and….

“Hey Marc…” I kept my eyes firmly on the speckled brown glaze of my mug. “What do I do if Stocke doesn’t want me anymore when he comes back? Specially now that he knows he’s a prince and stuff.”

“Get rowdily drunk and kiss strangers in the bar,” Marco told me without hesitation. “Like you always have when one of your bedmates ends things first.  If he’ll leave you out of social snobbery, then he’s not the man I think he is, and you’re better off without him anyway.”

“I guess.” I wasn’t going to admit that Stocke and I never had gotten to be proper bedmates, especially not after I’d told Marc I didn’t have anything of Stocke’s and he’d called Stocke an idiot. “I don’t think I can go back to making out with random people. It doesn’t seem so much fun anymore, thinking about it.”

Marco blinked at me, then smiled. It was like he wasn’t sure if he was amused or proud or what. “You’ve changed.”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “I guess. I dunno if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

My friend kept smiling that same funny smile, so I stuck my tongue out at him and got up. “Give me your mug, I’ll wash up.”

He reached his empty mug out to me, but didn’t let go of the handle when I tried to take it. “What about the plates?”

“The plates stay. For now.” I added hurriedly, because Marc was going to be like a jackal with a bone over this if I didn’t make him think I’d come around to his way of looking at things.  “If… if he doesn’t come back for-” the image of me, old and grey outside the Redtail flashed in my mind. “--a real long time, and it hurts too bad. Or it stops hurting. Then we’ll say a proper goodbye.”

Marco nodded. “How long will you wait?”

 _Forever_ , part of me said. But only part. The rest of me knew all too well that no one stays with you forever, even if Stocke came back tomorrow. And Marco would want something shorter and more specific. “Uh.. At least… at least a year and a day.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Like in the fairy tale? A year and a day from when he left?”

Oof, no, that would only be another six months or so. “No, from a year and a day from when we met him.” Still short, but I had said ‘at least’. Oh, damn, I should’ve said from year and a day from when we’d made our promise in Skalla, that would’ve gotten me another few months on top of it…

Marco shook his head, but instead of arguing he just chuckled softly. “All right, you can have your fairy tale. A year and a day from a year and a day from when you met. I suppose it’s appropriate. He is a prince, after all.” He smiled, like it was just a funny circumstance that Stocke was royalty.

“Heh, yeah. I guess.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “So, yeah.” I looked down at the plate, and thought about the year ahead of me, and the waiting I still meant to do past that if I had to. My throat got tight. “Marc? I need a hug.”

Marco slid out of his chair, then looked all the way up at me. “If you want a hug, you’ll need to get down here,” he said gruffly. From the way he squeezed me, though, once I was down on my knees with my arms around him, I don’t think he was at all grumpy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to WanderRiha for helping jumpstart me when I was stuck on this chapter. She is the reason Marco and Raynie engaged in fisticuffs.


	11. Small Indignities

Marco sat around and we chatted while I washed the mugs, along with all the other dishes that had been sitting around dirty since the night Stocke didn’t come back. Then I did some other chores while he made sarcastic remarks about my housekeeping skills -- oh, come _on_ , Marc, I can’t just take my linens and stuff down to the castle laundry anymore, the way you do!

Between the talking and fighting and tea and chores, it was dinnertime before I knew it. To thank him for the shoulder to cry on and the kick in the butt, I invited Marc to stay for it. I didn’t even need to go buy food for it. Sure, the milk had been a loss, but most of my food that I’d bought the week before was still good -- the potatoes weren’t even sprouting yet, and of course the cheese was fine. Cheese lasts a long time, that’s kind of the point of cheese. 

Marc gave me a hard time for not eating as many cheese fritters as he did (normally he packs away less than I do unless he’s been burning a lot of magic) until I reminded him I’d had both breakfast and lunch only a few hours ago. Then he bullied me into washing up and not leaving things to sit around dirty. He did offer to help, but he was a _guest_ , so there was no way I was having any of that. I’m still a Cygnus girl at heart.

We went to the Redtail, after. I had to stay well away to show I wasn’t going to try challenging the owner’s rule, so I couldn’t hear what got said. They talked for quite a while, taller-than-me Carlie peering seriously down at tiny little Marco, who was talking seriously back up at her, his head tilted so far back to see her face he’d drown if it started raining. With the two of them together Carlie looked even taller, and Marco smaller than usual. I wondered if that’s what people see when they see me and Marc together.

“Any luck?” I asked Marc when he came back. Up close to me he didn’t look so small, really.

“You’re banned for a month-” he began.

“I can’t go a whole _month_!” I wailed. “What if I miss him? What if he comes back and waits for _me_ here, what if-”

“From the _bar_ , Raynie,” Marco cut in impatiently. “Carlie says you can still watch for him-”

I exhaled loudly in relief. “Oh, _good_.”

“- but only on Tuesdays. And you have to promise not to make trouble, and leave before it gets dark.”

I bit my lip and thought a bit. It was way less than I was used to, but it was better than nothing. “Why only then?”

Marco’s eyes drifted off to the side. “Because Carlie works Tuesdays, and the publican isn’t there until after sunset those days.” 

The way he put it, it sounded like Carlie was doing me a favor, then, going around her boss’s back. It didn’t explain Marco’s shifty look, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least, not right this second. I’d ask Carlie later, in a week or two.

“Got it,” I said. “I’ll bring a book, too, to show I’m not there to start trouble.”

Marco look relieved that I didn’t argue. “Good idea,” he said, then added conversationally. “You must really like Alistellian dime novels. You were never this much of a reader before.”

“Yeah, Sonja’s been lending me books ever since we got back to Alistel. She knows how to find the good stuff.” Y’know, it’s kinda funny -- I put off even looking at the first one she gave me, thinking it’d be pretty stupid from the words on the back and the woodcut of a fainting lady on the front. Plus it was, well, a lot of words all in once place. I learned to read here and there in Cygnus, and later to write, but doing it for more than to get by was for rich people and scholars and priests, really. Come to think of it, I should’ve realized something was up when Stocke always seemed to have a couple books with him...

Anyway, I only finally opened the book with the fainting lady because Sonja wouldn’t let up asking how I liked it, and I couldn’t seem to fool her. So I started reading it when I was bored and missing Stocke and couldn’t go get drunk because the bars were all closed for some weird Alistelian holiday.

And it was stupid, but in a funny way. So I kept reading. And the next day I read a bit more, and a bit more, and then… Honestly, I’d have been more of a reader if I’d only known people wrote books about people _banging_! 

“Makes me wonder a bit about all the different desert priests, though,” I mused. “They could say it’s a holy book, but if no one but other priests can read the language, who’d know?”

Marco looked at me funny. “Who’d know what about desert priests?”

“Oh, whether their books are really holy.” I shook my head to bring me back to the present. “So. Tuesdays. One hour, gotta stay outside and leave before sundown.”

“That’s correct.”

“I guess that’ll have to do.” I sighed. “A month without beer, though. That’ll be hard.”

Marco blinked at me. “There are other bars in Alistel, Raynie. You’ve been to most of them.” He paused. “Been thrown out of some of them, even.”

“Yeah, but the Redtail’s _our_ bar,” I explained, totally calmly and reasonably and not, e.g., whining. “It’s not the same at the others.”

“Stop whining. You’ll get drunk just as well on their beer. C’mon, the Prophet’s Feet had that good white ale we both liked.”

I made a sad face. “It still won’t be as good as the beer at the Redtail.”

Marco huffed an impatient sigh. “Look, I’ll buy the first round.”

“Oh, well, if you’re buying!” I grinned, perking right up. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

It was nice to do something normal and fun, after the crazy week I’d had. I wound up buying both the second and third round. Marco deserved it, honestly, putting up with me the past few days. He helped keep the conversation away from Stocke, too -- mostly we talked about our old mercenary days. It’s been long enough that the memories only sting a little, and anyway, beer and bullshitting is the best way to remember old drinking buddies. 

He offered a few times to use the sober-up spell, but I wasn’t getting too melancholy so I said no. And anyway, we couldn’t finish our third beers -- some stupid fight broke out about what Noah had actually said about about Beastkind, and we left.

Marco was still a suspicious bastard and walked me home so I couldn’t sneak off to the Redtail, but I was drunk enough that my bed seemed like a nice place to go, so I didn’t give him any trouble. I expected a bad moment locking the door when he left, but the moment the bar was settled in its place, I realized I was almost asleep on my feet. I more or less fell into bed, and if I dreamed, I didn’t remember any of it.

* * *

I woke up with a dry mouth, a foggy head, and a bursting bladder that left me cursing Marco all the way to the privy. I’ve had worse hangovers, but usually they’re after a lot more drinking, so I was pretty sure he’d slapped me with a sleep spell through my door the night before. 

I tried to light the stove, but delicate magic and hangovers are a bad mix, and I gave up after the fourth try. At least the kettle had gotten halfway warm from it all.

I sat down with a cup of lukewarm cumin tea, wishing I had bread and spicy sausage for the rest of my usual hangover cure. Not that you can get the right kind of sausage in Alistel. Without the stove lit, breakfast was leftover fritters -- cold, oily and slimy, but I managed to get some down around gulps of tea. The food and tea helped the nausea, but it was a bit of a delicate balance, and at one point I had to stop eating to get my stomach under control. With nothing to distract me, my bleary eyes fell on Stocke’s plate. 

“Marco is a heartless bastard,” I informed the empty space above it. “He’s lucky I can’t put feepos in his bed anymore.” 

Of course there was no answer. Before I got sad about that I shoved myself away from the table and stalked off for a shower.

* * *

By the time my hair was mostly dry, I wasn’t feeling too hung over anymore, and I was pretty sure I didn’t look it at all, with a fresh uniform and my hair tidy. Back in Dydo’s company showing up before your CO with an obvious hangover when you were already in trouble usually got you running extra laps or digging latrines while everyone laughed at your misery. I hadn’t run into that in Alistel yet, but better safe than sorry. And I’d met Major Irina maybe only three times before. Mostly she communicates with us through paperwork unless we cause trouble -- I hadn’t seen her on official business since the day after Marc and I got formally promoted. 

I saw heads turn as I made my way through the castle to the wing with offices. I hoped it was just that they’d heard about my fight with Bennis, and not the bit afterwards when I’d been bawling my head off in the middle of town. 

When I came into Major Irina’s office, I swear the air was colder inside. I marched up to right in front of her desk and saluted. She returned the salute with a frown, blinked at me like she hadn’t recognized me at first, then shook her head and looked back down at her paperwork and finished whatever she’d been writing. 

I had to keep eyes fixed ahead of me, but I stole a look at her, anyway. She had the same milky skin and blue eyes as half of Alistel, but her hair was almost as dark as mine. I’d forgotten that, about her hair. She wore it cropped short, like Viola.

My arm was getting tired from holding the salute when she finally said, “At ease, Captain.” 

That doesn’t actually mean you can be at your ease. It means you keep your feet planted on the floor shoulder-width apart, and fold your arms behind your back, but you can let your shoulders slouch a little bit. And you can’t shift your weight too much or look around, or talk.

“I presume you know why you’re here?” she asked, frowning at me. 

“Yes ma’am,” I said, instead of _Because this is your office_. Alistel army or mercenary company, it never pays to be a smartass when your CO’s already pissed at you.

“Then I see no reason to draw this out. Three days unpaid disciplinary leave, during which time you will _not_ be lounging at home. The cost of repairs to the damaged cobblestones will be garnished from your wages.”

I nodded, not like I was allowed to argue. It wasn’t too bad, really. The loss of pay stung a bit, but I’d do okay for food money without dipping into what I had saved so long as I didn’t go drinking for a while. And I wasn’t confined to quarters, so that was something.

“I can’t technically confine you to quarters since you’ve elected to acquire civilian housing,” she continued, and I really hoped that was coincidence and she wasn’t reading my thoughts. “And this is the first you’ve given me any trouble. Your record is quite good. But if you disgrace the uniform again I’ll see to it that you haven’t got any free time to engage in further drunken brawling. Understood?”

 _Disgrace the uniform?_ I clenched my jaw to keep from spitting out what I thought. Yeah, okay, fighting in uniform’s bad form, especially another soldier, and that’s why I was in trouble, even if he’d completely been asking for it. But there was no need to be _insulting_... 

She frowned at me. “Understood?” 

“Yes ma’am.” I saluted. 

She took up a pile of papers and neatened them by tapping the bottom edge on her desk. “I don’t want to see you here for another six months.” She passed the papers to me -- orders for my leave, and the corners of her mouth quirked. “At least, not looking like that.”

I saluted again, on the general principle that you can never do too much of that, unless it’s with someone like Rosch or Stocke. It seemed to work, because she dismissed me without any more insults.

* * *

I jogged down the stairs, clutching my orders to my chest to keep things from bouncing. Hitting the steps hard with my feet felt good -- I was still a little pissed off about Irina’s snipe about _disgracing the uniform_. I could almost swear I smelled singed hair, but I didn’t think I was angry enough for that, and besides, I’m more likely to spark lightning, not fire, when I’m pissed.

First stop was the armory, where I was assigned to do inventory. I showed my papers to the quartermaster, who shoved another stack of papers at me without even looking up and sent me off to one of the storerooms for footgear.

Counting boots is boring, in case you were wondering. They keep ‘em all in big boxes by size, so you have to dig through everything and set them out by pairs, so it was a pain in the butt as well as boring. And even if there was a weird thing with a lot of left boots missing (all different sizes, too), it wasn’t like it took up a lot of thinking power.

So by the time the bell tolled for midday I’d worked myself up into a pretty big stinking temper over Irina’s insult. Seriously, what the hell was all that about. It’s not like I’d done anything that bad, like run away from a battle or taking bribes to betray my company or contract. 

I put on my don’t-bug-me face for the mess, and since my uniform had the stripes to back me up I got left alone. I caught a few people staring, but they looked away when they realized I saw them. Lunch was bland and heavy, as usual, but cheaper than getting something in town, and the strict schedule Irina’d drawn up didn’t leave me time to go shopping and go cook something _and_ eat in time.

I was heading back to the armory, still wearing a scowl, when I heard my name called. I stopped dead in the hall, half-panicked as Sonja came toward me. I’d been too busy grumping about Irina that I’d forgotten to watch out for anyone else. It was too late to bolt without Sonja seeing I was avoiding her. 

“There you are!” she said, grabbing my arm the way girls sometimes do with friends. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s been a while since we had a chance to talk.” Her voice sounded cheerful and social, like I hadn’t just spent a week being a soppy idiot losing my mind and we just hadn’t had time for a chat. But I was pretty sure that if she got me in a room alone I’d be subjected to either lectures or interrogation. 

I tried to tug loose, but she just walked with me. “I’ve, uh, gotta go back to doing inventory for the quartermaster...Major Irina’s punishment orders, you know?”

She smiled with her mouth only -- her eyes were far away. But her voice was cheerful enough as she said, “Then I’ll rescue you. You can help me sort old records in the infirmary instead.”

“I’m not a medic!” I protested. “I won’t know what half of the stuff in them means!”

But there’s no stopping Sonja when she’s made up her mind. She talked the quartermaster around into letting me go with her -- I’ve never been so desperate to just sort shinguards, let me tell you! -- and even got him to sign off on my papers so it was all official.

In the hallway, we walked in silence for a bit. I kept waiting and waiting for Sonja to start grilling me about how I was doing, or lecturing me on givi- on what she thought I should do. When we rounded a corner and no one was around, and she still stayed quiet, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sonja, I’m fine now. I swear! Ask Marc if you don’t believe me.”

Her answer was to draw me into a swift, crushing hug. I hugged back, smelling mint and the familiar infirmary disinfectant.

“I’m sorry we didn’t look after you better,” she said softly. 

“I didn’t let you,” I mumbled into her shoulder. Damnit, my eyes were pricking already, my throat going tight. I was tired of having so many feelings about all this, tired of hashing it out again and again... “Sorry. But Marc already knocked some sense into me, so can we…”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Sonja said, to my relief. She pulled back, looked me over. She blinked as she peered at my face, then shook her head and briskly straightened my uniform for me. “There. Now, as for my project -- ”

We walked as she explained. She wanted to find all the medical records of soldiers who’d banged their heads bad enough to need the infirmary. But she couldn’t just read everyone’s records to see if they’d hurt their head, so she was going through injury logs instead.

I knew vaguely about injury logs -- we didn’t have ‘em with Dydo’s company, but Alistel’s big on keeping records, and I remember Marc had to carry a little notebook when we were with Rosch’s brigade, and write down whenever people got hurt. I just figured it was ‘cause the bean-counters would yell at him for using too many bandages and potions and things, but Sonja explained that every field medic had one, and they got copied down in the main logbooks later on.

Once we got to the infirmary, she sat me down at a table in her office with an inch-thick leatherbound book and a blank sheet of paper. “I’ve just filled it, so you won’t run out,” she said, handing me a pen.

“I have to read this _whole book_?” I asked in horror. “In one day? It’s fatter than my thumb!” I measured. “Almost as fat as two thumbs, see?”

Sonja opened the book to the first page. The page was covered with tiny, perfect handwriting that made my hand cramp just looking at it. “You’re just looking at the subheadings that list the type of injury. If there’s a head injury, you write down the name of the patient, their ID number and the date of the injury.” She breezed through the first page, her finger jumping from heading to heading faster than I could read. She turned the page, then again, and then stopped. “See? 

I blinked and looked at where her finger was. The poor bugger with perfect handwriting had written out a date from a few years ago, and underneath that “William 05M374” and “head wound”.

_Whilst Running Laps in the main courtyard, William slipped on a puddle and fell and struck his heade on the paving stones. Whereupon, he passed out and was carried to Infirmary. When he woke, he complained of Headache and upset stomach. He was kept until Dinner and released._

“Do I have to copy that bit out, too?” I asked, a little hopelessly. Even if it was just head injuries, that was going to be a lot of writing. 

Thankfully, Sonja shook her head. “That part’s less important. Although if they mention any problems with memory -- poor recall, amnesia, things like that -- make a note.”

“Uh, okay.” I wasn’t sure how “amnesia” would be spelled. I’d just have to hope I could recognize it when I saw it.

Sonja took her own seat at the desk nearby, and busied herself with a stack of papers much larger than mine. She frowned slightly as she read, then I saw her reach into a nearby bowl and pull out a small sprig of leaves. She tore one off the stem and chewed it.

I shrugged and turned my attention to the book. Tiny writing or not, at first I read almost the whole entry for each poor bugger who’d gotten hurt. Some of ‘em were boring, or depressing, and I skipped them. Others were funny, though.

I was sniggering over the training sergeant who got shot in the butt during archery practice when Sonja cleared her throat at me.

“If you’re done with that one already, I can get you another.” 

I looked up. Sonja had been reading through patient records at her desk, I guess from a list her clerk had put together from another logbook. She’d gone through an awful lot of them, compared to the small number of pages I’d gotten through in the logbook. And her tone had been mild enough, but I could take a hint. This _was_ supposed to be punishment work.

“I’ve got plenty to go on this one,” I said, and moved my finger down to the next entry. Olivia 15L444 had gotten “struke on the hed by falling rock”. I had to switch fingers as I copied down her information, since I’d been reading with the same hand I write with.

Remembering that this was punishment didn’t help things when my eyes started to ache from all of the reading, or my hand cramped when a bunch of people in a row all had hurt their heads and I had a lot of names and numbers to write down. And then I remembered Major Irina’s stupid insult about _disgracing the uniform_ and I got myself all worked up again. 

I moved on to the next entry. Head and hand injuries: black eye, split lip and eyelid, bloody knuckles… yep, Blace 17M423 had been in a bar fight.

 _I never got in trouble for bar fights_ before, I thought hotly. _Rosch never wrote me up._ Stocke _never wrote me up. And Bennis was asking for it anyway. And mouthing off to a superior officer in uniform! Huh, and then Irina has to go and say-

“What did she say?” Sonja had turned again to look at me. 

Damnit, I hadn’t meant to say anything loud. But since Sonja was giving me the opening to vent… 

“....and on top of it all, she said I disgraced my uniform, which I never. I don’t bully civs,” I finished up, slamming my book shut for emphasis.

Sonja had stayed quiet as I talked. Now she took a new leaf from her bowl and chewed it reflectively, and I smelled mint again. “Sorry,” she said finally, and put the bowl aside. “I can see why you’re upset about all of that.”

“Yeah.” I was feeling better, having gotten it off my chest. “Anyway, I’ll do the punishment work, it’s better than digging privies in your skivvies. But ”

“Digging priv-- oh, latrine trenches. I see.” She bit her lip, then said, slowly, “I suppose mercenary companies and Specint both handled discipline issues rather differently from the regular army.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I grumbled. Then, remembering she’d been a military surgeon for years, and was going to marry a general besides, added quickly, “But I’m not saying it’s wrong, the punishment stuff, I mean. I’ll do it!” To show willing, I opened my logbook again and started skimming, trying to find the page I’d been at before.

Sonja was quiet for a while, and I figured she’d gone back to her own work. But apparently she’d still been watching me, because a minute later, she asked, “Raynie, what happened to your eyebrows?”

I reached up and winced as I rubbed sore skin where there should’ve been hairs. “Oh, uh. I had a bit of a problem lighting the stove this morning.”

Of course Sonja wouldn’t leave it be, and a few minutes later I was trying to read stupidly tiny handwriting again and ignore the itchy green goo on my forehead.


	12. Looking Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And life goes on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap between updates, and thank you all who have followed this story so far! 
> 
> the next update will be by 1/9/2016 -- the chapter's written, but it needs some revising yet.

My other two days of punishment went pretty much the same as the first. Well, I didn’t wake up hungover or have to report to the major again, but in the morning I did inventory stuff for the quartermaster and afternoons I looked through records with Sonja and whatever other poor saps she’d drafted to squint at tiny handwriting. She didn’t tell me why she was looking through everything, but I was still afraid she’d want to talk about me making a fool of myself the week before, so I was afraid to ask in case she turned my questions around on me. She’s pretty good at that.

This time, she had a logbook herself, instead of a stack of files. She seemed a bit surprised by one of the entries.

“Raynie 26Z334… is this you?” she asked, turning the book to look at its spine.

I’d looked up from the log I’d been given. I’d been working through one from about six years ago, but I guess Sonja had skipped a few years ahead. “Yeah, that’s me.” You have to sign your name and number whenever you get paid, so I had it memorized properly. Sure, they’re on dogtags, but I didn’t get any until we transferred to the army with Stocke -- Specint didn’t issue ‘em. “Me and Marc joined in… uh, early spring, two years ago, what was that...” Okay, this was Prophet’s Year eighty-four, but Alistel has the new year start at a weird time...

“Eighty-two.” Sonja said, just as I’d figured it out. She frowned. “This date… I hadn’t realized Heiss sent you on such dangerous assignments as fresh recruits.” 

I wasn’t sure what she meant by dangerous assignments. Heiss had given us easy stuff while we were finding our feet. It’s part of why I’d thought he was a pretty good guy to work for, back before -- well. Before we found out he wasn’t. “I dunno, it didn’t seem so bad to me.”

Sonja gave me that look I saw her give Stocke and Rosch a whole bunch back during the war, and her voice was too patient when she said, “Raynie. You were concussed, had four cracked ribs, and broke your leg in two places.”

“Oh! That wasn’t from Specint work,” I said hastily. “That was from right before we joined up. And the leg and ribs were already healing, Marco’s good at bones! And I bet you anything he’s the next entry. Marco 26Z335,” I added, just in case. Marco’s number was just one after mine, so it was easy to remember.

“It is,” Sonja said carefully, her eyes on the page. “So these injuries were from the cave-in?”

“Yeah, I mean, you don’t get the ceiling falling in on you and just get off with a few bruises. It all healed up real fast, though.” It’s not exactly a happy memory, but it’s gotten easier to talk about casually. Still, I didn’t want Sonja getting all poor Raynie, either. “That’s the best thing about working for Alistel. All the good healers with training and book learning and stuff. Marco was good before, but he got ever so much better when he got here and started reading books, you know? All those pictures of muscles and bones and guts and things. Hey, that reminds me, how did the people who made the books know what people look like on the inside? Did they have spells, or…”

Sonja let me distract her, and even looked amused. “No, there’s no magic there. Scholars and doctors dissect cadavers to learn how the human body works.”

“That’s allowed?” I asked, a bit taken aback, after she’d explained what dissecting meant. I know that once the person’s dead the body’s just a sack of meat, but back in Alma Mine, Rosch had gotten all upset when I took some gear from dead Granorg soldiers we’d fought. “I mean, I thought the Prophet had all sorts of rules about treating bodies with respect, and things…”

“It’s not done disrespectfully,” Sonja said carefully. “And afterwards, the bodies are put back together and given a proper burial. Well, at least in Alistel. Granorg… handles things rather differently. The practice was heavily restricted there at the time Alistel declared independence; I don’t know the state of things now.”

“Huhhhh.” I let out a long breath, thinking. “Well, I know there’s people from the mountains who leave bodies out for vultures, and sometimes they cut them up first. I guess this isn’t much different.” When those people first came to Cygnus, there was a huge fuss over it, with people from all different religions upset over it ‘cause they were afraid of angry spirits or goblin sorcerers stealing them for puppets, or just people trying to steal the bones. Finally Garland made the the mountain people build a tower outside of the city where they could put the bodies, and everyone else settled down.

“Hmmm.” Sonja pressed her lips together. “Well, I’d like to ask you more about that sometime, but we do have work to do.”

And so we got back to our tasks. I finished the book she’d given me, eventually. Since there was still time left, I reached for a new one off of Sonja’s stack. Its spine said “81 v1”.

“Ah!” She put her hand flat on top of the book. “No, no, I’ll do these, don’t worry.”

“But there’s still a lot left-” 

Whatever reason Sonja was going to give me was cut off by a nervous cough.

“Kiel! Can we help you with something?”

He saluted stiffly. “Er… the General asked me to fetch you, Captain Raynie.”

I grinned as I returned it. Kiel’s so _cute_ when he tries to be all formal. “Got it! Sorry, Sonj’, can’t say ‘no’ when it’s a summons from the boss!” I hopped out of my chair, threw a salute at Sonja just for fun, and sauntered towards the door. Kiel trailed behind.

Out in the hall, he actually tugged at his collar, he was that nervous. “Er, I’m to bring you to the courtyard where General Rosch is, so if you’ll just follow me…”

I fell into step behind him. Once I judged we were out of earshot from the infirmary, I said slyly, “Soo, been a while since you got to see Sonja, I imagine.”

His shoulders hunched, but he kept walking, maybe even a little faster than he had been. “Yes, captain.”

“She still as pretty as you remember?”

“Couldn’t say, captain.” He sped up.

I matched his gait. “Aww, you make it sound like you didn’t even look at her! C’mon--”

He walked faster, turning his face away from me. 

I dropped back, startled. It had taken me a moment to recognize the “sorry I need to go do a thing that’s not here” walk, but that’s what it was. You know, the one to get away from guys trying to chat you up who can’t take a hint? I wasn’t expecting it from Kiel of all people, not towards _me_.

“Sorr-” I began, half-plaintively.

He cut me off, staring straight forward. “I respect Doctor Sonja. I respect Cap- General Rosch.”

Oh, yeah, probably I shouldn’t tease him about liking someone who’s about to be married. Two someones, actually -- his hero-worship of Rosch, back when, hadn’t been too different from the way he acted about Stocke and Viola, and those two he'd definitely been crushing on.

“Sorry,” I said, again, and really meant it this time.

Kiel didn’t say anything.

We walked in silence, still uncomfortably fast, until we made it to one of the training yards. I was surprised and a little nervous to go in. It was one of the small private ones, reserved for the really high-ranking officers like Hugo and Viola. As a new recruit I’d been shown it only for the reason of being warned against setting foot in it. That made me want to sneak in, until I got a better sense of what a cactus-bum General Hugo was about rules.

Hugo was dead and Field Marshal Viola wasn’t there today, but Rosch was, thundering around the yard with a lance in hand. He’d set up hanging rings on strings from posts all around the yard, and was catching them on the end of his lance.

I was pretty sure he saw us, but he finished the course before coming to greet us. Not because he was being a snob -- I think he just didn’t want to leave his drill half-done. 

He was all smiles when he finally slowed to a jog, and then a walk. “Kiel! Thank you for passing on my message. You’re free to go.”

Kiel saluted and fled.

I saluted too, because when the head honcho summons you personally after you’ve been in trouble, you gotta stay polite.

Rosch’s smile went crooked when Kiel was gone. “You don’t need to do that, you know. It’s not like this is an official summons or anything.”

I lowered my arm. “It’s not?” 

“Nope.” Rosch flicked the top ring - just the top one! - off his lance at me. I caught it. “What, Kiel didn’t say? I just wanted to chat when you had free time. Oh, blast, he’s trying too hard again. That boy.” He shook his head, smiling fondly.

I looked at the ring I’d caught, weighing it in my hand. It was lighter than I’d expected. “What’s this, elm or something?”

He shook his head. “Pine.”

I whistled appreciatively. I don’t know that many woods, but I know pine’s pretty lightweight. The ring must’ve been bobbing about in any breeze, but he’d still got it in one go as he charged by.

We chatted a bit about training -- we both use polearms, but lances handle differently from halberds and spears, y’know?-- and he offered to let me have a go at his course some time. 

“With a pike, maybe,” I agreed in the end. “And not today. I’m stiff from doing paperwork all afternoon.” I made a show of rubbing my back.

“Sonja’s research project? So she roped you in, too. Did she explain it to you?” 

I shrugged. “She just had me look through injury logs for people who’d gotten their bell rung. She never said why.”

“She didn’t think to tell me, either.” Rosch sounded wry. “When she’s consumed by research she sometimes forgets the rest of us don’t have a direct line to her brain and need to be told what’s going on.”

“Maybe she wants to design a new kind of helmet or something?” I scratched under my collar. “Urgh, while she’s at it she could design a better uniform? The seams on these get all itchy in summer.”

“That reminds me,” Rosch said, awkwardly casual. “Sonja said you were upset about the term ‘disgracing the uniform.’”

So this was what Rosch had wanted to talk to me about. Shit. Silently, I cursed Sonja for ratting me out, although probably I should’ve figured she’d tell him. “I was just grumping,” I said hastily. “I wasn’t questioning my punishment orders or anything! Major Irina just didn’t need to be rude about it.” 

Rosch cleared his throat, and planted his lance, grip-first, in the sand of the yard. “I realize you were a mercenary before you came to Alistel. So you’re probably wondering, how can a bunch of fabric be disgraced-”

“Just because I was a merc doesn’t mean I don’t know things like that,” I said, a bit offended at his patronizing attitude. “We -- Dydo’s company -- were _organized_. Dydo was ex-mil, so he used a lot of that stuff. We even had uniforms and ranks and _rules_. Why do you think I joined ‘em? I wasn’t that good a mage then, and anyway I had to sleep.”

There was a long silence from Rosch. “A mercenary company with ranks and uniforms?” he asked, finally. He seemed doubtful.

“Well, not as organized as Alistel, but we weren’t a whole country’s army, so we didn’t need to be,” I allowed. “We had brown jackets, and a patch to show we were Dydo’s, and the color showed how long we’d been there. And Dydo was the captain, and there were a few second-captains, and a bunch of sarges -- sergeants, who had squads. It meant we could be more organized in a fight than other merc companies, you know? It’s why we could be so big, too.”

“So, what did it mean to disgrace those uniforms?” Rosch asked, carefully. 

“Stuff that would hurt the company’s rep. Running out on a client who’d paid fairly for a job. Cowardice -- like, abandoning your squadmates in a fight just to save your own hide, that sort of thing. Bullying townies, especially kids. Now, it was fine if you got in a bar fight with townies if they started it and you won, ‘cause losing could make us look bad. Unless they were really tough, like the town blacksmith. Actually, that was generally a smart move, ‘cause they were happy they’d won but we still looked tough, and you always want the smith who’s fixing your gear to like you, you know--” 

“So it was, essentially, about the honor of your corps? Company, I mean?”

I shrugged. “That’s a bit of a fancy way of putting it, but yeah. Isn’t that what it means in Alistel? Be proud of being one of us, don’t make us look bad?”

“Essentially. But… we might have different ideas about what matters, and what looks bad.” Rosch was fussing with the other wood rings still stuck on his lance. “Bar fights, for one.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t start it, or lose it. And Bennis isn’t a townie. Unless he’s gotten tossed out to civilian street on his ass?” I added hopefully.

Rosch smiled crookedly. “No, he’s been transferred to another captain, but he’s still in the military. And fighting him still counts, I’m afraid.”

“But--- Huh. Really? Even though he’s one of ours?”

“Yes, really. Fighting our own in bars makes the civilians think we aren’t disciplined.”

Okay, fair enough, I could see that. When foreign armies are quartered in your town, as a civilian you get nervous about them and what they might start doing. Maybe it’s no different when it’s your own country’s army and you’re all patriotic about them. Still… “Even though he’s a ratbum pisspuddle and was totally asking for it?” I wheedled. 

“Yes.” Rosch’s face went all strained, and I knew he was fighting not to laugh. “Even then. And even if you’re in civilian dress, I’m afraid -- you’re an officer, now, Raynie.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” I shrugged. “All right. Guess I gotta start wearing a disguise when I go out drinking.”

I don’t think Rosch was expecting that. “Why?”

“Well, you know.” I shrugged again, grinning carelessly. “That seems easier than not getting into bar fights.”

Rosch did laugh at that, and I let myself chuckle along. 

He shook his head, smiling. “Raynie, you’re incorrigible.”

“That’s what Marco says!” I pretended to think a moment. “And a shameless hoyden. And a depraved hedonist. So you see, I’ve got a quite a rep to live up to.”

“On the subject of reputations...” Rosch turned serious. “When you put on that uniform every morning, I want you to stop and remember what it means. It means you’re a part of something greater. You’re representing Alistel -- as an officer, even moreso. It’s a privilege, and a burden, to wear that uniform. Because you’re carrying our reputations on your shoulders.”

I couldn’t help it, I snuck a look at my shoulders.

Rosch wasn’t phased. “Yes, that’s right. Those officer’s stripes. They’re a privilege and a burden as well….”

I shifted uncomfortably as he talked. I get it about being proud to be in a good army and things, and proud of your home and wanting to keep it safe. But Rosch goes a bit further with the whole business than I really like.

“...it’s the uniform all our fellow soldiers fight in. It’s the uniform Stocke fought while wearing...”

The only time I saw Stocke in uniform was when we were disguised, working against Alistel, but I didn’t think this was a good time to point that out to Rosch. He’d probably drone on for twice as long if I tried to argue. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smirking or rolling my eyes.

“...understand?”

“Sir!” I saluted. Very convenient response, saluting. Everyone takes it as meaning what they want, but you’re not actually saying yes or no, so it’s not actually lying. 

“Good! You’re dismissed, soldier.” It seems Rosch had forgotten this was supposed to be just a conversation between friends and had turned the General back on. 

I saluted again, turned smartly about-face, and marched out of the small courtyard before I could start giggling. 

I choked on my laughter, though, when I realized Stocke had come up, and I hadn’t gotten that sad pinch in my chest. For a moment I panicked, afraid I’d gotten over him already, betrayed him. But no, when I stopped to think about how he was gone, it still ached, leaving me sad and relieved all at once. So why hadn’t I been sad when Rosch brought up Stocke?

It was something to think about, so I did, on the walk back to the infirmary to see if the Sonja wanted me to fetch files or roll bandages or anything else.

* * *

I went back to running the usual drill for my squad the next day, my punishment work done. I also had to meet with Marco to plan the next set of wargames, fill out the paperwork to schedule that and to requisition the chalk for the weapons and things. I swung by the infirmary a couple times to say hello to Sonja, although half the time she was locked up in her office.

Life went on, and Tuesday came too fast and too slow. I was impatient to get back to waiting for Stocke, but a little scared, too. What if he didn’t come? Of course he wouldn’t come… no, wait, what if he did come, and Marco told him about how I’d been a weepy idiot last week? Oh, hell, my apartment was still a mess, what if he came back and then didn’t want to stay… oh, hey, was that red I saw -- no, no it wasn’t. Damn. 

Marco had offered to come, but I’d said no. It was a nice idea, and maybe another night, but it seemed like this was the sort of thing I needed to face once by myself, you know? 

Leaving at the end of my shift was hard -- what if Stocke came five minutes later, and thought I’d abandoned him after all? I had to remind myself that Stocke had that magic time book, it was probably better that I was sticking to a regular schedule anyway, that way he’d know when to come back to. Also, Marco probably had someone spying on me, and would sigh and shake his head at me and insist on coming next time because I couldn’t take care of myself. 

That got my butt in gear, and I jogged home. Still, it was lonely, trudging up the steps to my apartment, just me. 

It was dark, so I didn’t notice the small package left up against my door until I’d accidently kicked it halfway into my apartment. Startled and wary, I switched on the light from just outside the doorway.

The thing I’d kicked in was small and brown, about the size of a small book. When I got close, I saw the brown was just paper wrapping, done up with string. There was a small slip of paper attached.

_Raynie,_

_I figured you might be bored tonight. Sonja said this is the sort of book you liked. Have fun reading it, I guess._

_-Marco_

I smiled at that. I’m lucky in my friends, even if Marco is a worrywart sometimes.

I bolted the door for the night, kicked off my boots, and plunked myself down on the bed with the book. The springs made a satisfying sproing. 

This book was about the daughter of a wealthy merchant and the handsome, moustached, and muscular laborer she was in love with. But her father wouldn’t let them marry because the guy was just a steampipe maintenance worker and poor and stuff, and her Da wanted her to marry a rich merchant guy so they could make business contacts. 

The best bit happened when the girl was out on a picnic and got kidnapped by goblins for some reason. The handsome mustached hero rushed in out of nowhere and fought off all the goblins with his hammer. Then the writer forgot they were still in the middle of the goblin camp in Lazril Hills, I guess, because they went and banged right then and there. I dunno what happened to the bodies or the goblins who got away, which was annoying.

Then there was some stuff with standing up to her Da to let them get married, and planning to run away to live in the woods if he wouldn’t let them. It started to get kind of dull then, and I kept skipping ahead by accident, so I figured it was time to hit the hay.

In the dark, I was alone again, and restless, and a bit hot and bothered after reading. I slid my hand down to between my legs, my mind drifting by habit to my usual sad what-if fantasy about Stocke. What if I’d known how much he was carrying, what if he let me help him forget it, just for an evening. What if we’d gotten a chance to make each other feel good, together, one time before he left us. 

Just me and my imaginary Stocke and my regrets, alone in the dark. 

And I was tired of being sad about Stocke all the time.

I shoved the sadness away and wiped my eyes, then switched on the lights. I flipped through the book I’d been reading, turning pages until I got to the good bit. Obviously, Stocke wouldn’t _need_ rescuing, he could do that himself, so in my head, I just showed up in time to help him get free quicker, and we fought off the goblins together. And we went to, uh, my tent somewhere safe. And that’s when we got our clothes off, checking for injuries at first until we we just touching for the fun of it, until we were both panting with want. Then I rode him, and he moaned beneath me…

After, I drifted off to sleep, my head full of a muzzy sort of happiness. 


	13. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raynie eats breakfast

It didn’t take me long to settle into the new routine -- only going to the Redtail for an hour on Tuesdays, then going drinking with Marc at a bar that would actually let me in. So three weeks in, I could already say I was having a pretty typical Wednesday morning. Which is to say that I was inclined to be a little mopey and drag my feet. I wasn’t even thinking about Stocke, and how he hadn’t shown up the night before, or the sore feeling in my chest. I was just dreary by habit. 

Filling the kettle at the sink perked me up a bit, as it usually does. I still can’t get over having my own faucet, instead of having to go to the public well like in Cygnus, or a stream or lake like when I’m out on the field, or the common bathroom back in the barracks. Alistel might have some weird religious beliefs, but I swear the indoor plumbing more than makes up for it.

So I put the kettle on the stove, humming a bit to myself until I realized it was some sappy ballad about a girl pining for her boyfriend who’s gone off to war, and switched to singing a dirty marching song under my breath instead. I lit the stove with a spot of magic and left the kettle and frying pan to heat up while I mixed up the batter for the starchy fried cakes I usually had for breakfast.

I’d just poured the batter into the pan when I heard a rap on the door. We had parade inspection this morning, so I figured it was Marc, coming to make sure I wasn’t sleeping off a hangover (sheesh, you’re late for work _once_ after drinking a little too hard and he never lets it go). I tossed my spatula onto the counter and went to the door.

I opened the door to glare down at him, and found myself staring at someone’s torso instead, where dark brown trousers met a distinctive red jacket in a confusing array of belts. 

I stared like an idiot for far too long before it registered that it was Stocke. At the front door of my apartment. When I was in the middle of fixing breakfast. With a slightly worried look pinching his sharp handsome face.

“Raynie?” 

I stepped forward and grabbed him tightly in my arms. Well, I must have, because a moment later I was hugging him, and Stocke’s never been the one to initiate those. Within seconds I was laughing, and then somehow I was crying at the same time, and I said his name and probably something stupid and obvious like “you’re back” and I don’t know what else. I think I called him an idiot for taking so long to come back, or tried to, but the sobs shaking my chest kept stealing my breath. I tried a couple times to kiss him, but through the blur of tears it was hard to aim, and anyway I couldn’t breath right, so I had to stop and get on with hugging and crying.

He bore all this pretty well. I felt his arms around my shoulders, holding me against him. He said my name a few times and made the reassuring noises you make when someone’s crying and soaking your shirt. He touched the side of my head a few times, too -- just a little bit of gentle pressure on my hair. It was a comforting feeling.

At last I pulled myself away because even after that embarrassing display I still had some dignity, and I was not going to lose the rest of it by getting snot all over his shoulder.

“Come in,” I said gaspingly, my chest still heaving although my tears had stopped. I hiccoughed and wiped my eyes. “I was just making breakfast.”

“Good, I came in time,” he said. I was too busy catching my breath to ask what he meant by that. He sniffed the air. “I think it’s burning.”

I rushed to the stove. Stocke came up behind me a moment later.

Final verdict: the black bits could be scraped off, probably. If I’d been alone that’s probably what I would have done so as not to waste food, even if it would taste awful.

I spent more time staring at the pancake and fretting over it than I really needed too, but it was there in front of me and small and easier to deal with. My chest still felt full and tight, like I could cry or laugh again at any moment if I so much as breathed wrong, and my mind was a tumble of questions -- what should I say? Was it weird to say I’d missed him or that I loved him? Was it weird if I didn’t say them? Should I be asking him how the roads had been, or where _he’d_ been? All this time I’d dreamed of him coming back and I wanted it to be perfect, it was supposed to be perfect, a dream come true, but I’d _burned the food..._

“I brought some food,” Stocke said. “There should be enough for both of us, if we split this-”

“Oh, no way, you are _not_ eating this. You just came back after… after...” I swallowed and wiped my eyes again. “You’re my _guest_. I’m going to do this right, I swear.” And I would’ve even if it weren’t Stocke -- growing up in Cygnus, even on the streets, you learn that guests are to be treated _properly._

While I crumbled cheese again and mixed it with lard, eggs, cornmeal, and the potato flour that was the closest I could find in Alistel to the starchy root I’d used back in Cygnus, Stocke took charge of the kettle. He took it off the stove just as it was starting its ear-splitting whistle and rummaged in my cabinets, I guess for the tea.

My back was turned to him when he took all this to the table, so I couldn’t see his face for what came next.

“Ah, Raynie,” he said in altogether too-even tones, “There are two places set.”

I was already so used to the second, perpetually-empty place setting that I actually had to turn around and look before I realized that’s what he was talking about. “Oh. Um. That.” I was embarrassed to say it while looking at him, so I quickly turned back to the stove, checking to see if the cake was ready for flipping even though it obviously wasn’t. “One’s for you. Not that I knew you were coming this morning! It’s just always set. You know. In case -- for when you came back.” 

He was silent for a long minute, but I didn’t dare turn around to look at his expression, in case he was laughing at me for being a sap. Finally, he said, “Thank you, Raynie.” His voice was anything but even. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and another light touch on the top of my head. “Thank you.” His voice was very close to my ear.

“You’re welcome. You can stay here as long as you like, you know,” I told him, feeling my face heat up. I flipped the pancake to calm myself, and because it was ready. It had a few flecks of black from the burned one embedded in its surface, so I did my best to flick them off with the spatula. “I’ve got enough extra of everything. You know, plates and so forth,” I tried to keep it casual as I went on. “Pillows, blankets, towels, that sort of thing.” There was only one bed, but if he looked around he could see that, and anyway I figured we’d be sharing that. “There’s an empty drawer in the closet you can use too.”

“Thank you.” That’s all it was, was thanks; I couldn’t hear a yes or a no in his voice. Since I was still busy at the stove I couldn’t see his face. Stocke can be so unreadable sometimes, anyway.

I cleared my throat. “So, um, I’ve got questions…” I was bursting with them, honestly, but I couldn’t make up my mind what to ask first. Maybe _How_ or _What happened, why aren’t you dead._ Oh, and _who else knows,_ that was important. Eruca and Marc and the rest would be so happy!

“I expect you do,” He sounded amused, and muffled -- he was messing around in the frostbox. “But I’d prefer to explain things to everyone all at once, if that’s all right?”

“Yeah, just… just tell me, are you back for good? The world’s saved and you don’t have to die?” I was too afraid to look at him in case he shook his head.

“Eruca’s successfully performed the Ritual and the desertification is no longer advancing,” he said, and my chest loosened.

When I brought the second pan-cake to the table, holding the hot skillet carefully so I didn’t bump him or anything, I saw Stocke had the first, burned one on his plate. There were dark mugs of something brown and frothy near each of our plates -- the cocoa stuff from Forgia-- and beautiful red apples, a paper bag of some kind, and a small clay pot with a spoon stuck in it.

“I told you, you’re a _guest_ ,” I told him, flipping the second cake onto my own plate. “If you think I’d let you eat burned breakfast as a guest under my roof… unless you like them blackened?” I screwed my face up doubtfully.

Stocke shook his head. “It’s my fault that it burned.”

“Pfff.” I waved my hand. “You think I care about a little thing like burned pan-cakes after all this time? You’re back, Stocke. That’s all I-” my throat closed, and suddenly I was close to crying again, so I just went ahead and swapped our plates. “It’s going to get cold, let’s eat.”

I picked up my fork and knife and started scraping burned bits off. Stocke hesitated a long moment, then pulled the plate away from me, towards him.

“Stocke,” I said, exasperated, but instead of swapping the plates like I’d expected he just cut both pancakes in half, and gave us both half of each.

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

I stuck out my tongue at him, then stuffed a forkful into my mouth.

The clay pot turned out to contain honey, “from Forgia,” Stocke told me, and when I spread it on my pan-cakes I saw it was darker than Alistel’s honey, and when I tasted it I felt the rich, smoky sweetness on my tongue that I’d loved when we’d been in the Gutral homeland. The bag had hot jam-filled pastries, the kind I remembered eating in Granorg a few times, and the apples were obviously from Celestia. 

And the mugs really, really did have cocoa. I closed my eyes as I drank. It was sweet and bitter and spicy and warmed me all over from my toes to my head. 

When I set my mug down, Stocke looked at me, then gestured across his upper lip.

“Oh, I’ve got a mustache?” I tried to get what I could with my tongue before using a napkin. “Yum.” Then I squinted at him. “You don’t.” Cocoa or otherwise, actually. He was cleanly shaved, not the slightest trace of stubble on his face, and when I leaned closer I could see a couple hairline scars on his jawline, and one across his left cheek. His eyelashes were blond, I realized with a little start. I’d forgotten that.

“You’re staring,” he told me after a minute. He seemed amused.

I smiled and rested my chin on one hand. “I like your face,” I told him. Then I stole a piece of pancake from his plate. 

Since he’d asked me to hold off on questions, we mostly just ate, me grinning and Stocke smiling this quiet, contented little smile that I’d only seen a handful of times before. 

Although every so often I had to set down my fork and bust out with something like, “Eruca and Aht are going to be so glad you’re back,” or “You won’t believe it, but Rosch and Sonja… no, wait, sorry I’d better let them tell it. But it’s great, I promise!” After each of my outbursts Stocke would just smile and nod and keep eating. 

I felt so full up with happiness that I thought I might be able to float with it.

Stocke had set his fork down with half of each pancake neatly stacked on one side of the plate, and I was slowing down myself when there was a banging at my door, about halfway up from the sound of it. If you hit it in the middle it makes the whole door rattle, hinges and all. “Raynie! Raynie, wake up! You’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming!” I shouted back automatically, and the pounding subsided.

Stocke raised an eyebrow at me, and I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, I forgot to say, me ‘n Marc are still working for Alistel. We’re captains! Army, this time, since Specint-” I was cut off by renewed pounding. “I said I’m coming,” I growled, shoving my chair back and marching to the door.

I popped it open to reveal an irritated-looking Marco, arms folded and face folded in grumpiness, like a shriveled apple. His expression relaxed a bit when he saw me “Well, at least you’re dressed. That’s better than I was expecting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I wasn’t actually cross, except at having my breakfast with Stocke interrupted, but - oh! I tried to keep a scowl on my face as I went on, as casually grumpy as I could make it. “Of course I’m dressed. Had breakfast, too. At least, _I’m_ done.” I turned my head and hollered back, “Hey, Stocke, you still eating?”

Marco face was priceless. “You.. Stocke… _breakfast?_ ” he squeaked out. I don’t know why he thought the breakfast was worth mentioning. Then he pushed past me into the main room of my apartment and stood, staring. “It really is you!”

Stocke smiled, almost the same small smile he’d had when I was saying random things over pancakes. Then his eyes went wide, just before Marco punched him in the face.

“What the _hell_ , Marc-” I advanced, ready to pull my crazy friend off Stocke, but it seemed Marco was done, because he stepped back and folded his arms.

Stocke cupped one hand to his face where he’d been struck and waved me off with the other. “‘s fine,” he mumbled, then winced.

“Sorry, but you deserved it,” Marco told him, raising a hand that already glowed with a healing spell.

I guess Marc hadn’t hit him hard enough to knock teeth loose or slosh Stocke’s brain around, because it was less than a minute before the spell was done and the two were clasping forearms and giving each other the one-armed soldier’s hug. It was made easier by the fact that Stocke was still sitting, putting him closer to Marc’s height.

“But how? Weren’t you supposed to-- how is this-- are you back for good?” It seemed Marco had the same trouble I had with deciding what to ask first. 

“All in good time,” Stocke promised. “Have you had breakfast yet? There’s plenty of food left.”

I closed the door and leaned against it, grinning. We were going to be late for parade, but I was pretty sure Rosch wouldn’t hold it against us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, at long last, after six months (or one and a half years, depending on how you reckon things), Raynie's wait is over! Although the broader story isn't: I have quite a bit more planned (and some even written)! 
> 
> But we've reached a resting point, for now. So I'd like to thank everyone who's followed the story over the past year and a half! And many, many thanks as my assorted betas, without whom this would be a far poorer story: Tez, Catteries, Tanaka, and Riha, thank you.


End file.
